Studying    the     Short-Story 


SIXTEEN  SHORT-STORY  CLASSICS 
WITH  INTRODUCTIONS,  NOTES  AND 
A  NEW  LABORATORY  STUDY  METHOD 
FOR  INDIVIDUAL  READING  AND 
USE  IN  COLLEGES  AND  SCHOOLS 


BY 
J.  BERG  ESENWEIN,  A.M.,  LiT.D. 

EDITOR   OF   THE   WRITERS    MONTHLY 

REVISED  EDITION 
THE  WRITER'S  LIBRARY 

EDITED  BY  J.  BERG  ESENWEIN 


HINDS,  HAYDEN   &   ELDREDGE,   INC. 

NEW  YORK  PHILADELPHIA  CHICAGO 


5 


Copyright  1912 
BY  J.   BERG  ESENWEIN 

Copyright  1918 
BY  J.  BERG  ESENWEIN 


TO 
MOTHER 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PA«K 

TO  TEACHERS  AND  STUDENTS vii 

PUBLISHERS'  NOTE xi 

AN    INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    STUDY    OF    THE 
SHORT-STORY xiii 

I.  STORIES  OF  ACTION  AND  ADVENTURE 
MERIMEE  AND  His  WRITINGS 4 

"  Mateo  Falcone,"  Prosper  Merimee 8 

STEVENSON  AND  His  WRITINGS 29 

"  A  Lodging  for  the  Night,"  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  .  34 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 67 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  STORIES  OF  ACTION  AND  ADVENTURE  68 

II.  STORIES  OF  MYSTERY  AND  FANTASY 

POE  AND  His  WRITINGS 72 

"  The  Purloined  Letter,"  Edgar  Allan  Poe  ....  76 

JACOBS  AND  His  WRITINGS  108 

"The  Monkey's  Paw,"  W.  W.  Jacobs in 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR   STUDY 129 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  STORIES  OF  MYSTERY  AND  FANTASY.  130 

III.  STORIES  OF  EMOTION 

DAUOET  AND  His   WRITINGS 135 N 

"The    Last   Class,"   Alphonse   Daudet 139 

KILLING  AND  His  WRITINGS .     .  147 

*'  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy,"  Rudyard  Kipling     .     .151 

S'.GGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR   STUDY 189 

TSN  REPRESENTATIVE  STORIES  OF  EMOTION  OR  SENTIMENT  190 

IV.  HUMOROUS  STORIES 

rlENRY    AND    HlS    WRITINGS 194 

"The  Ransom,  of  Red  Chief,"  O.  Henry     ....   198 


I 


TABLE  OF   CONTENTS 

PAGE 

BARRIE  AND  His  WRITINGS 215 

"  The  Courting  of  T'Nowhead's  Bell,"  James  M.  Barrie  219 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 249 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  HUMOROUS  STORIES 250 

V.  STORIES  OF  SETTING 

HARTE  AND  His  WRITINGS 255 

"The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat,"  Bret  Harte  .  .  .259 

MAUPASSANT  AND  His  WRITINGS 277 

"  Moonlight,"  Guy  de  Maupassant 281 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 290 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  STORIES  OF  SETTING     .     .     .     .     .  290 

VI.  IMPRESSIONISTIC  STORIES 

HAWTHORNE  AND  His  WRITINGS 297 

"The  White  Old  Maid,"  Nathaniel  Hawthorne     .     .  302 
"  The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher,"  Edgar  Allan  Poe  .  320 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 351 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  IMPRESSIONISTIC  STORIES  ....  352 

VII.  CHARACTER  STUDIES 

"  The  Piece  of  String,"  Guy  de  Maupassant  .  .  .  356 
COPPEE  AND  His  WRITINGS 368 

"  The  Substitute,"  Francois  Coppee 371 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 388 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  CHARACTER  STUDIES  .....  389 

VIII.  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDIES 

"  Markheim,"  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  .....  394 
MORRISON  AND  His  WRITINGS 422 

"  On  the  Stairs,"  Arthur  Morrison 425 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 431 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDIES  .  .  .  432 

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE 433 

INDEX .  437 


TO  TEACHERS  AND  STUDENTS 

Growing  out  of  my  former  volume,  Writing  the  Short- 
Story,  appeared  the  use  for  a  new  book  that  should  con- 
tain a  large  number  of  short-stories  arranged  and  anno- 
tated in  form  suitable  for  school  or  private  study.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  unique  marginal  arrangement  for  notes, 
which  was  first  used  in  the  study  of  Maupassant's  "  The 
Necklace,"  in  the  earlier  work,  was  also  adopted  in  this, 
with  the  addition  of  exhaustive  critical  introductions  and 
comments.  Further  study,  whether  by  classes  or  by  in- 
dividuals, has  been  facilitated  by  the  reading  references 
upon  the  authors  represented,  and  —  arranged  under 
each  of  the  eight  type-groups  —  the  explicit  lists  of  ten 
representative  short-stories  available  for  reading  and 
analysis. 

Five  points  were  had  in  mind  as  a  basis  for  the  selec- 
tion of  the  stories  included  in  this  collection :  First,  the 
real  merit  of  the  story,  as  illustrating  the  short-story 
structurally  perfect,  or  as  nearly  perfect  as  could  be 
found  in  combination  with  the  other  points  desired ; 
second,  the  typical  qualities  of  the  story,  as  standing  for 
the  class  it  was  to  represent;  third,  its  intrinsic  literary 
interest  for  the  general  reader ;  fourth,  its  representative 
quality  as  illustrating  the  author's  tone  and  style;  fifth, 
its  suitability  for  class  and  private  study  and  analysis. 

vii 


Vlll  TO   TEACHERS  AND  STUDENTS 

Other  stories  are  equally  brilliant  and  equally  repre- 
sentative, but  some  are  too  long  to  fit  into  such  a  selec- 
tion ;  others  are  not  available  because  of  publishers'  rules ; 
still  others  are  morally  unsuitable  for  the  uses  of  mixed 
classes  of  young  people;  while  many  capital  stories  are 
the  work  of  authors  who  have  not  produced  consistently 
good  work. 

The  tone  of  many  of  the  stories  included  is  sad,  and 
their  endings  tragic ;  this  is  accidental  and  has  not  at  all 
governed  the  selection  from  my  belief  that  stories  of 
tragic  quality  are  necessarily  the  greatest ;  though  the 
tragic  phases  of  life,  being  the  most  intense,  are  the  most 
likely  to  offer  attractive  themes  to  authors  who  prefer  to 
deal  with  strong  and  subtle  situations.  The  same  is  true 
of  stories  dealing  with  sex  problems,  but  these  have  been 
excluded  for  obvious  reasons.  Livelier  and  more  cheer- 
ful stories  either  were  not  as  representative  of  the  types 
I  desired  to  exhibit,  or  were  rejected  from  other  motives. 
Those  who  study  these  selections  with  a  view  to  writing 
the  short-story  will  do  well  to  bear  in  mind  that  fiction 
of  gloomy  tone  must  be  very  well  written  and  on  themes 
of  unusual  power  to  atone  for  their  depressing  qualities. 

For  the  use  of  teachers  and  their  pupils,  a  series  of 
general  questions  has  been  prepared  (p.  xxxi),  besides 
questions  at  the  end  of  each  section.  Of  course  these 
will  be  regarded  as  suggestive  rather  than  exhaustive. 

The  margins  left  blank  in  the  stories  marked  "  For 
Analysis  "  may  be  used  for  pencil  notes,  at  the  option  of 
the  teacher.  For  further  study,  strips  of  writing  paper 
may  be  attached  to  the  margins  of  stories  cut  from  the 


TO    TEACHERS   AND   STUDENTS  IX 

magazines  and  full  notes  added  by  the  pupil.  Writing 
the  Short-Story  will  be  found  an  especially  practical  ad- 
junct in  making  the  marginal  analyses  and  notes,  as  that 
work  gives  much  space  to  the  general  structure  of  the 
short-story  and  an  analysis  of  its  parts.  The  nomencla- 
ture of  Writing  the  Short-Story  has  been  observed  in 
this  volume,  as  well  as  the  typographical  arrangement, 
where  practicable  —  especially  the  practise  of  indicating 
short-stories  by  quotation  marks,  while  printing  book- 
titles  in  italics. 

I  venture  to  hope  that  the  present  work  may  prove 
helpful  in  disclosing  to  lovers  of  the  short-story,  as  well 
as  to  those  who  wish  merely  to  study  its  technique,  the 
means  by  which  authors  of  international  distinction  have 
secured  their  effects. 

J.  BERG  ESENWEIN. 

Philadelphia,  June  8,  1912. 

NOTE  TO  REVISED  EDITION 

The  only  changes  made  in  the  original  text  are  such 
typographical  corrections  as  were  needed  and  a  consider- 
able addition  to  the  bibliography. 

J.  B.  E. 

Springfield,  Mass.,  May  1,  1918. 


PUBLISHERS5  NOTE 

The  wide  usefulness  of  Writing  the  Short-Story,  by 
the  author  of  this  volume,  as  evidenced  by  its  adoption 
for  class  use  in  the  foremost  American  universities,  col- 
leges, and  schools,  and  by  the  many  thousands  of  well- 
known  writers  and  younger  aspirants  who  have  found 
it  so  helpful  in  their  craft,  has  encouraged  the  author  to 
undertake  the  present  work.  Mere  collections  of  short- 
stories  are  not  lacking,  but  no  other  volume  presents  an 
authoritative  international  selection,  with  comprehensive 
classifications  under  leading  short-story  types,  critical 
and  biographical  introductions,  illuminating  marginal 
notes,  and  opportunities  for  original  study  afforded  by 
margins  for  the  student's  notes,  together  with  questions 
and  lists  of  stories  for  examination  and  study.  Whether 
used  singly  or  as  a  companion  volume  with  Writing  the 
Short-Story,  it  is  confidently  believed  that  the  present 
work  will  prove  a  notable  contribution  to  the  literature 
of  this  most  popular  and  significant  literary  form. 

THE  PUBLISHERS. 


xi 


AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  STUDY 
OF  THE  SHORT-STORY 

Fiction  as  an  art  has  made  more  progress  during  the 
last  hundred  years  than  any  other  literary  type.  The 
first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century  especially  developed 
a  consciousness  of  subject  matter  and  form  in  both  the 
novel  and  the  short-story  which  has  created  an  epoch  as 
notable  in  the  history  of  fiction  as  was  the  age  of  Shake- 
speare in  the  progress  of  the  drama.  In  Great  Britain, 
France,  Russia,  Germany,  and  America  arose  fictional 
artists  of  distinguished  ability,  while  in  other  nations 
writers  of  scarcely  less  merit  soon  followed. 

The  novel  demands  a  special  study,  so  even  for  its 
relation  to  our  theme  —  the  short-story  —  the  reader 
must  be  referred  to  such  works  as  specialize  on  the 
longer  form.1 

A  comprehensive  treatment  of  the  short-story  would 
include  an  inquiry  into  the  origins  of  all  short  fictional 
forms,  for  every  story  that  is  short  is  popularly  known 

1  Excellent  and  comprehensive  works,  dealing  more  especially  with  the 
English  novel,  are:  The  English  Novel,  Sidney  Lanier  (Scnbners,  1883, 
1897);  The  Development  of  the  English  Novel,  Wilbur  L.  Cross  (Macmillan, 
1899);  The  Evolution  of  the  English  Novel,  Francis  ITovey  Stoddard  (Mac- 
millan,  1900);  A  Study  of  Prose  Fiction,  Bliss  Perry  (Ilonghton-Mifilin, 
1902);  The  Study  of  A  Novel,  Selden  L.  Whitcomb  (Heath.  1905);  The 
Technique  of  the  Novel,  Charles  F.  Home  (Harpers,  1908);  Materials  and 
Methods  of  Fiction,  Clayton  Hamilton  (Baker-Taylor,  :9o8). 

xiii 


XIV  INTRODUCTION 

as  a  short  story.  The  fullest  and  best  guide  for  such  a 
study  is  Henry  Seidel  Canby's  historical  and  critical 
treatise,  The  Short  Story  in  English. 

Naturally,  an  inquiry  into  origins  would  prove  to  be 
measurably  profitless  and  certainly  dry  for  the  general 
student  were  it  not  supplemented  by  the  reading  of  a 
great  many  stories  —  preferably  in  the  original  —  which 
illustrate  the  steps  in  short-story  development  from 
earliest  times.1 

A  further  field  for  a  comprehensive  survey  would 
be  a  critical  comparison  of  the  modern  form  with  its 
several  ancestral  and  contributory  forms,  from  original 
sources. 

A  third  examen  would  be  devoted  to  the  characteristics 
and  tendencies  of  the  present-day  short-story  as  pre- 
sented in  volume  form  and,  particularly,  in  the  modern 
magazine. 

A  fourth,  would  undertake  to  study  the  rhetoric  of  the 
form.2 

None  of  these  sorts  of  study  can  be  exhaustively  pre- 
sented in  this  volume,  yet  all  are  touched  upon  so  sug- 
gestively and  with  such  full  references  that  the  reader 
may  himself  pursue  the  themes  with  what  fullness  he 
elects.  The  special  field  herein  covered  will  be,  I  believe, 
sufficiently  apparent  as  the  reader  proceeds. 

1  Good  collections  arranged  historically  are,  The  Book  of  the  Short  Story, 
Alexander  Jcssup  and  Henry  Seidel  Canby;  and  The  Short-story,  Brander 
Matthews.  The  former  contains  lists  of  stpries  short  and  long  grouped 
by  periods. 

*  A  full  study  of  this  character  has  been  attempted  in  the  present  author's 
Writing  The  Short-Story,  Hinds,  Hayden  and  Eldr^o-c  New  York,  1909, 


INTRODUCTION  XV 

Let  it  be  understood  from  the  outstart  that  throughout 
this  volume  the  term  short-story  is  used  rather  loosely 
to  cover  a  wide  variety  of  short  fiction ;  yet  presently  it 
will  be  necessary  to  show  precisely  how  the  modern  form 
differs  from  its  fictive  ancestors,  and  that  distinction  will 
assume  some  importance  to  those  who  care  about  recog- 
nizing the  several  short  fictional  forms  and  who  enjoy 
calling  things  by  their  exact  names. 

The  first  story-teller  was  that  primitive  man  who  in 
his  wanderings  afield  met  some  strange  adventure  and 
returned  to  his  fellows  to  narrate  it.  His  narration  was 
a  true  story.  The  first  fictionist  —  perhaps  it  was  the 
same  hairy  savage  —  was  he  who,  having  chosen  to  tell 
his  adventure,  also  resolved  to  add  to  it  some  details 
wrought  of  his  own  fancy.  That  was  fiction,  because 
while  the  story  was  compounded  of  truth  it  was  worked 
out  by  the  aid  of  imagination,  and  so  was  close  kin  to 
the  story  born  entirely  of  fancy  which  merely  uses  true- 
seeming  things,  or  veritable  contributory  facts,  to  make 
the  story  "  real." 

Egyptian  tales,  recorded  on  papyrus  sheets,  date  back 
six  thousand  years.  Adventure  was  their  theme,  while 
gods  and  heroes,  beasts  and  wonders,  furnished  their  in- 
cidents. When  love  was  introduced,  obscenities  often 
followed,  so  that  the  ancient  tales  of  pure  adventure  are 
best  suited  to  present-day  reading. 

What  is  true  of  Egypt  4000  B.  C.  is  equally  true 
of  Greece  many  centuries  later.  The  Homeric  stories 


XVI  INTRODUCTION 

will  serve  as  specimens  of  adventure  narrative;  and  the 
Milesian  tales  furnish  the  erotic  type. 

As  for  the  literary  art  of  these  early  fictions,  we  need 
only  refer  to  ancient  poetry  to  see  how  perfect  was  its 
development  two  thousand  and  more  years  ago ;  there- 
fore—  for  the  poets  were  story-tellers  —  we  need  not 
marvel  at  the  majestic  diction,  poetic  ideas,  and  dra- 
matic simplicity  of  such  short-stories  as  the  Egyptian 
"  Tales  of  the  Magicians,"  1  fully  six  thousand  years  old ; 
the  Homeric  legends,  told  possibly  twenty-five  hundred 
years  ago ; 2  "  The  Book  of  Esther,"  3  written  more  than 
twenty-one  hundred  years  ago ;  and  the  stories  by  Lucius 
Apuleius,  in  The  Golden  Ass,4  quite  two  thousand  years 
old. 

In  form  these  ancient  stories  were  of  three  types: 
the  anecdote  (often  expanded  beyond  the  normal  limits 
of  anecdote)  ;  the  scenario,  or  outline  of  what  might  well 
have  been  told  as  a  longer  story ;  and  the  tale,  or  straight- 
forward chain  of  incidents  with  no  real  complicating  plot. 

Story-telling  maintained  much  the  same  pace  until  the 
early  middle  ages,  when  the  sway  of  religious  ideas  was 
felt  in  every  department  of  life.  Superstition  had  al- 
ways vested  the  forces  of  nature  with  more  than  natural 
attributes,  so  that  the  wonder  tale  was  normally  the  com- 
panion of  the  war  or  adventure  story.  But  now  the 
power  of  the  Christian  religion  was  laying  hold  upon  all 
minds,  and  the  French  conte  dcvot,  or  miracle  story,  re- 

1  Egyptian  Tales,  W.  M.  Flinders  Petrie. 

*  Stories  from  Homer,  Church. 

•  Tli*  Bible   as  English   Literature,   J.    II.    Gardiner. 
*A   History  of  Latin   Literature,   George  A.    Simcox. 


INTRODUCTION  XV11 

cited  the  wonderful  doings  of  the  saints  in  human  behalf, 
or  told  how  some  pious  mystic  had  encountered  heavenly 
forces,  triumphed  over  demons  and  monsters  of  evil,  and 
performed  prodigies  of  piety. 

These  tales  were  loosely  hung  together,  and  exhibited 
none  of  the  compression  and  sense  of  orderly  climax 
characteristic  of  the  short-story  to-day.  In  style  the 
early  medieval  stories  fell  far  below  classic  models,  natu- 
rally enough,  for  language  was  feeling  the  corrupting 
influences  of  that  inrush  of  barbarian  peoples  which  at 
length  brought  Rome  to  the  dust,  while  culture  was  con- 
served only  in  out-of-the-way  places.  In  form  these 
narratives  were  chiefly  the  tale,  the  anecdote,  and  the 
episode,  by  which  I  mean  a  fragmentary  part  of  a  longer 
tale  with  which  it  had  little  or  no  organic  connection. 

The  conte  devot  in  England  was  even  more  crude,  for 
Old  English  was  less  polished  than  the  speech  of  France 
and  its  people  more  heroic  than  literary. 

When  we  come  to  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury we  find  in  two  great  writers  a  marked  advancement : 
Chaucer's  Canterbury  Tales  and  Boccaccio's  Decameron 
—  the  former  superior  to  the  latter  in  story-telling  art  — 
opened  up  rich  mines  of  legend,  adventure,  humor,  and 
human  interest.  All  subsequent  narrators  modeled  their 
tales  after  these  patterns.  Chaucer's  "  The  Pardoner's 
Tale "  has  many  points  in  common  with  the  modern 
short-story,  and  so  has  Boccaccio's  novella,  "  Rinaldo," 
but  these  approaches  to  what  we  now  recognize  as  the 
short-story  type  were  not  so  much  by  conscious  intention 
as  by  a  groping  after  an  ideal  which  was  only  dimly 


XV111  INTRODUCTION 

existent  in  their  minds  —  so  dimly,  indeed,  that  even 
when  once  attained  it  seems  not  to  have  been  pursued. 
For  the  most  part  the  fabliaux 1  of  Chaucer  and  the 
noi'dle  2  of  Boccaccio  were  rambling,  loosely  knit,  anec- 
dotal, lacking  in  the  firmly  fleshed  contours  of  the 
modern  short-story.  Even  the  Gesta  Romanorum,  or 
Deeds  of  the  Romans — 181  short  legends  and  stories 
first  printed  about  1473 — show  the  same  ear  marks. 

About  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century  appeared 
The  Arabian  Nights,  that  magic  carpet  which  has  carried 
us  all  to  the  regions  of  breathless  delight.  The  story 
of  "Ali  Baba  and  The  Forty  Thieves,"  for  one,  is  as 
near  an  approach  to  our  present-day  short-story  as  was 
Irving's  "  Rip  Van  Winkle,"  and  quite  unsurpassed  in 
all  the  literature  of  wonder-tales. 

Thus  for  two  thousand  years  —  yes,  for  six  thousand 
years  —  the  essentials  of  short  story  narration  were  un- 
changed. What  progress  had  been  made  was  toward 
truth-seeming,  clearer  characterization,  and  a  finer  hu- 
man interest,  yet  so  surpassing  in  these  very  respects  are 
some  of  the  ancient  stories  that  they  remain  models  to- 
day. Chiefly,  then,  the  short  fiction  of  the  eighteenth 
century  showed  progress  over  that  of  earlier  centuries 
in  that  it  was  much  more  consistently  produced  by  a 

1  The  fabliau,  a  French  form  adopted  by  the  English,  is  an  amusing  story 
told  in  verse, 'generally  of  eight-syllable  line.  Another  poetic  form  of  the 
period  is  the  /at,  a  short  metrical  romance. 

1  The  Italian  novella  was  popular  in  England  down  to  the  late  Elizabethan 
I>cri..«l.  Jt  is  a  diverting  little  story  of  human  interest  but  told  with  no 
moral  purpose,  even  when  it  is  reflective.  In  purpose  it  is  the  direct  oppo- 
site of  the  c4cw/'/i<»j,  which  is  a  moral  tale  told  to  teach  a  lesson,  and  may 
be  compared  to  the  "  illustration  "  which  the  exhorter  repeats  in  the  pulpit 
to-day. 


INTRODUCTION  XIX 

much  greater  number  of  writers  —  so  far  as  our  records 
show. 

Separately  interesting  studies  of  the  eighteenth-cen- 
tury essay-stories  of  Addison,  Steele,  Johnson  and  other? 
in  the  English  periodicals,  the  Spectator,  Tatter,  Ram* 
bier,  Idler,  and  Guardian  might  well  be  made,  for  these1 
forms  lead  us  directly  to  Hawthorne  and  Irving  in 
America.  Of  almost  equal  value  would  be  a  study  of 
Defoe's  ghost  stories  (1727)  and  Voltaire's  development 
of  the  protean  French  detective-story,  in  his  "  Zadig," 
twenty  years  later. 

With  the  opening  of  the  nineteenth  century  the  marks 
of  progress  are  more  decided.  The  first  thirty  years 
brought  out  a  score  of  the  most  brilliant  story-tellers 
imaginable,  who  differ  from  Poe  and  his  followers  only 
in  this  particular  —  they  were  still  perfecting  the  tale, 
the  sketch,  the  expanded  anecdote,  the  episode,  and  the 
scenario,  for  they  had  neither  for  themselves  nor  for 
their  literary  posterity  set  up  a  new  standard,  as  Poe 
was  to  do  so  very  soon. 

Of  this  fecund  era  were  born  the  German  weird 
tales  of  Ernst  Amadeus  Hoffmann  and  J.  L.  Tieck ;  the 
Moral  Tales  of  Maria  Edgeworth,  and  the  fictional 
episodes  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  Scotland ;  the  anecdotal 
tales  and  the  novelettes  of  Prosper  Merimee  and  Charles 
Nodier  in  France ;  the  tales  of  Pushkin,  the  father  of 
Russian  literature  ;  and  the  tale-short-stories  of  Washing- 
ton Irving  and  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  in  America.  Here 
too  lies  a  fascinating  field  of  study,  over  which  to  trace 
the  approach  towards  that  final  form,  so  to  call  it,  which 


XX  INTRODUCTION 

was  both  demonstrated  and  expounded  by  Poe.  It  must 
suffice  here  to  observe  that  Irving  preferred  the  easy- 
flowing  essay-sketch,  and  the  delightful,  leisurely  tale 
(with  certain  well-marked  tendencies  toward  a  compact 
plot),  rather  than  the  closely  organized  plot  which  we» 
now-a-days  recognize  as  the  special  possession  of  the 
short-story. 

In  France,  from  1830  to  1832,  Honore  de  Balzac  pro- 
duced a  series  of  notable  short-stories  which,  while  mar- 
vels of  narration,  tend  to  be  condensed  novels  in  plot, 
novelettes  in  length,  or  expanded  anecdotes.  However, 
together  with  the  stories  of  Prosper  Merimee,  they  fur- 
nish evidence  for  a  tolerably  strong  claim  that  the  mod- 
ern short-story  was  developed  as  a  fixed  form  in  France 
before  it  was  discovered  in  America  —  a  claim,  however, 
which  lacks  the  elements  of  entire  solidity,  as  a  more 
critical  study  would  show. 

From  1830  on,  it  would  require  a  catalogue  to  name, 
and  volumes  to  discuss,  the  array  of  European  and 
American  writers  who  have  produced  fictional  narratives 
which  have  more  or  less  closely  approached  the  short- 
story  form.  Until  1835,  when  Edgar  Allan  Poe  wrote 
"  Berenice  "  and  "  The  Assignation,"  the  approaches  to 
the  present  form  were  sporadic  and  unsustained  and  even 
unconscious,  so  far  as  we  may  argue  from  the  absence 
of  any  critical  standard.  After  that  year  both  Poe  and 
others  seemed  to  strive  more  definitely  for  the  close 
plot,  the  repression  of  detail,  the  measurable  unity  of 
action,  and  the  singleness  of  effect  which  Poe  clearly 
defined  and  expounded  in  1842. 


INTRODUCTION  XXI 

Since  Poe's  notable  pronouncement,  the  place  of  the 
short-story  as  a  distinctive  literary  form  has  been  at- 
tested by  the  rise  and  growth  of  a  body  of  criticism,  in 
the  form  of  newspaper  and  magazine  articles,  volumes 
given  broadly  to  the  consideration  of  fiction,  and  books 
devoted  entirely  to  the  short-story.  Many  of  these  con- 
tributions to  the  literature  of  criticism  are  particularly 
important  because  their  authors  were  the  first  to  an- 
nounce conclusions  regarding  the  form  which  have  since 
been  accepted  as  standard ;  others  have  traced  with  a 
nice  sense  of  comparison  the  origin  and  development  of 
those  earlier  forms  of  story-telling  which  marked  the 
more  or  less  definite  stages  of  progress  toward  the  short- 
story  type  as  at  present  recognized ;  while  still  others  are 
valuable  as  characterizing  effectively  the  stories  of  well- 
known  writers  and  comparing  the  progress  which  each 
showed  as  the  short-story  moved  on  toward  its  present 
high  place. 

Some  detailed  mention  of  these  writings,  among  other 
critical  and  historical  productions,  may  be  of  value 
here,  without  at  all  attempting  a  bibliography,  but  merely 
naming  chronologically  the  work  of  those  critics  who 
have  developed  one  or  more  phases  of  the  subject  with 
particular  effectiveness.1 

Interesting  and  informing  as  all  such  historical  and 
comparative  research  work  certainly  is,  it  must  prove 

1  For  a  fuller  examination  of  the  bibliography  of  the  subject  refer  to  the 
bibliographical  notes  in  the  books  by  Matthews,  Baldwin,  Perry,  Jessup  and 
Canby,  Canby,  Dye,  C.  A.  Smith,  and  the  editor  of  this  volume  —  all  re- 
ferred to  in  detail  elsewhere  herein.  A  supplementary  bibliographical  note 
will  also  be  found  on  p.  433. 


XX11  INTRODUCTION 

'to  be  of  greater  value  to  the  student  than  to  the  fiction 
writer.  True,  the  latter  may  profit  by  a  profound  knowl- 
edge of  critical  distinctions,  but  he  is  more  likely,  for  a 
time  at  least,  to  find  his  freedom  embarrassed  by  attempt- 
ing to  adhere  too  closely  to  form,  whereas  in  fiction  a 
chief  virtue  is  that  spontaneity  which  expresses  itself. 

But  there  would  seem  to  be  some  safe  middle-ground 
between  a  flouting  of  all  canons  of  art,  arising  from  an 
utter  ignorance  and  contempt  of  the  history  of  any 
artistic  form,  and  a  timid  and  tied-up  unwillingness  to 
do  anything  in  fiction  without  first  inquiring,  "  Am  I 
obeying  the  laws  as  set  forth  by  the  critics  ? "  The 
short-story  writer  should  be  no  less  unhampered  because 
he  has  learned  the  origin  and  traced  the  growth  of  the 
ancient  fiction-forms  and  learned  to  say  of  his  own  work, 
or  that  of  others,  "  Here  is  a  fictional  sketch,  here  a  tale, 
and  here  a  short-story  " —  if,  indeed,  he  does  not  recog- 
nize in  it  a  delightful  hybrid. 

By  far  the  most  important  contribution  to  the  subject 
of  short-story  criticism  was  made  by  Edgar  Allan  Poe,. 
when  in  May,  1842,  he  published  in  Graham's  Magazine 
a  review  of  Hawthorne's  Tales,  in  which  he  announced 
his  theory  of  the  short-story  —  a  theory  which  is  re- 
garded to-day  as  the  soundest  of  any  yet  laid  down. 

In  1876,  Friedrich  Spielhagen  pointed  out  in  his 
Novelle  oder  Roman  the  essential  distinction  between  the 
novel  and  the  short-story.1 

1  For  this  important  record  of  the  discriminations  of  a  critic  little  known 
in  America,  we  are  indebted  to  Professor  C.  Alphonso  Smith's  work  on  The 
American  Short  Story. 


INTRODUCTION  XX111 

In  1884,  Professor  Brander  Matthews  published  in  the 
Saturday  Revieiv,  London,  and  in  1885  published  in 
Lippincott's  Magazine,  "  The  Philosophy  of  the  Short- 
story,"  in  which,  independently  of  Spielhagen,  he  an- 
nounced the  essential  distinction  between  the  novel  and 
the  short-story,  and  pointed  out  its  peculiarly  individual 
characteristics.  In  a  later  book-edition,  he  added  greatly 
to  the  original  essay  by  a  series  of  quotations  from  other 
critics  and  essayists,  and  many  original  comparisons  be- 
tween the  writings  of  master  short-story  tellers. 

In  March  n,  1892,  T.  W.  Higginson  contributed  to 
The  Independent  an  article  on  "  The  Local  Short-Story," 
which  was  the  first  known  discussion  of  that  important 
type. 

In  1895,  Sherwin  Cody  published  anonymously  in  Lon- 
don the  first  technical  treatise  on  the  rhetoric  of  the 
short-story,  "  The  Art  of  Story  Writing." 

In  1896,  Professor  E.  H.  Lewis  instituted  in  Chicago 
University  the  first  course  of  instruction  in  the  art  of 
story-writing. 

In  1898,  Charles  Raymond  Barrett  published  the  first 
large  work  on  Short  Story  Writing,  with  a  complete 
analysis  of  Hawthorne's  "  The  Ambitious  Guest,"  and 
many  important  suggestions  for  writers. 

In  the  same  year  Charity  Dye  first  applied  pedagogical 
principles  to  the  study  of  the  short  story,  in  The  Story- 
Teller's  Art. 

In  1902,  Professor  Lewis  W.  Smith  published  a  bro- 
chure, The  Writing  of  the  Short  Story,  in  which  psycho- 


XXIV  INTRODUCTION 

logical  principles  were  for  the  first  time  applied  to  the 
study  and  the  writing  of  the  short-story. 

In  1902,  Professor  H.  S.  Canby  issued  The  Short  Story, 
in  which  the  theory  of  impressionism  was  for  the  first 
time  developed.  In  1903,  this  essay  was  included  in  The 
Book  of  the  Short  Story,  Alexander  Jessup  collaborating, 
together  with  specimens  of  stories  from  the  earliest  times 
and  lists  of  tales  and  short-stories  arranged  by  periods. 

In  1904,  Professor  Charles  S.  Baldwin  developed  a 
criticism  of  American  Short  Stories  which  has  been 
largely  followed  by  later  writers. 

In  1909,  Professor  H.  S.  Canby  produced  The  Short 
Story  in  English,  the  first  voluminous  historical  and  crit- 
ical study  of  the  origins,  forms,  and  content  of  the  short- 
story. 

I  have  dwelt  upon  the  history  of  the  short-story  thus 
in  outline  because  we  often  meet  the  inquiry  —  sometimes 
put  ignorantly,  sometimes  skeptically  —  What  is  a  short- 
story?  Is  it  anything  more  than  a  story  that  is  short? 

The  passion  for  naming  and  classifying  all  classes  of 
literature  may  easily  run  to  extreme,  and  yet  there  are 
some  very  great  values  to  be  secured  by  both  the  reader 
and  the  writer  in  arriving  at  some  understanding  of  what 
literary  terms  mean.  To  establish  distinctions  among 
short  fictive  forms  is  by  no  means  to  assert  that  types 
which  differ  from  the  technical  short-story  are  therefore 
of  a  lower  order  of  merit.  Many  specimens  of  cognate 
forms  possess  an  interest  which  surpasses  that  of  short- 
stories  typically  perfect. 


INTRODUCTION  XXV 

Ever  since  Poe  differentiated  the  short-story  from  the 
mere  short  narrative  we  have  come  to  a  clearer  appre- 
hension of  what  this  form  really  means.  I  suppose  that 
no  one  would  insist  upon  the  standards  of  the  short-story 
as  being  the  criterion  of  merit  for  short  fiction  —  cer- 
tainly I  should  commit  no  such  folly  in  attempting  to 
establish  an  understanding,  not  to  say  a  definition,  of 
the  form.  More  than  that:  some  short-stories  which 
in  one  or  more  points  come  short  of  technical  perfection 
doubtless  possess  a  human  interest  and  a  charm  quite 
lacking  in  others  which  are  technically  perfect  —  just  as 
may  be  the  case  with  pictures. 

Some  things,  however,  the  little  fiction  must  contain 
to  come  technically  within  the  class  of  perfect  short- 
stories.  It  must  be  centralized  about  one  predominating 
incident  —  which  may  be  supported  by  various  minor  in- 
cidents. This  incident  must  intimately  concern  one  cen- 
tral character  —  and  other  .supporting  characters,  it  may 
be.  The  story  must  move  with  a  certain  degree  of 
directness  —  that  is,  there  must  be  a  thorough  exclusion 
of  such  detail  as  is  needless.  This  central  situation  or 
episode  or  incident  constitutes,  in  its  working  out,  the 
plot;  for  the  plot  must  not  only  have  a  crisis  growing 
out  of  a  tie-up  or  crossroads  or  complication,  but  the 
very  essence  of  the  plot  will  consist  in  the  resolution  or 
untying  or  denouement  of  the  complication. 

Naturally,  the  word  plot  will  suggest  to  many  a  high 
degree  of  complexity ;  but  this  is  by  no  means  necessary 
in  order  to  establish  the  claims  of  a  fictitious  narrative 
to  being  a  short-story.  Indeed,  some  of  the  best  short- 


XXVI  INTRODUCTION 

stories  are  based  upon  a  very  slender  complication;  in 
other  words,  their  plots  are  not  complex. 

Elsewhere J  I  have  defined  the  short-story,  and  this 
statement  may  serve  to  crystallize  the  foregoing.  "  A 
short-story  is  a  brief,  imaginative  narrative,  unfolding  a 
single  predominating  incident  and  a  single  chief  charac- 
ter ;  it  contains  a  plot,  the  details  of  which  are  so  com- 
pressed, and  the  whole  treatment  so 'organized,  as  to 
produce  a  single  impression." 

But  some  of  these  points  need  to  be  amplified. 

A  short-story  is  brief  not  merely  from  the  fact  that  it 
contains  comparatively  few  words,  but  in  that  it  is  so 
compressed  as  to  omit  non-essential  elements.  It  must 
be  the  narration  of  a  single  incident,  supported,  it  may 
be,  by  other  incidents,  but  none  of  these  minor  incidents 
must  rival  the  central  incident  in  the  interest  of  the 
reader.  A  single  character  must  be  preeminent,  but  a 
pair  of  characters  coordinate  in  importance  may  enjoy 
this  single  preeminence  in  the  story,  yet  no  minor  char- 
acters must  come  to  overshadow  the  central  figure.  The 
story  will  be  imaginative,  not  in  the  sense  that  it  must 
be  imaginary,  or  that  the  facts  in  the  story  may  not  be 
real  facts,  but  they  must  be  handled  and  organized  in  an 
imaginative  way,  else  it  would  be  plain  fact  and  not  fic- 
tion. The  story  must  contain  a  plot;  that  is  to  say,  it 
must  exhibit  a  character  or  several  characters  in  crisis  — 
for  in  plot  the  important  word  is  crisis  —  and  the  denoue- 
ment is  the  resolution  of  this  crisis.  Finally,  the  whole 
must  be  so  organized  as  to  leave  a  unified  impression 

1  Writing  the  Short-Story,  p.  30. 


INTRODUCTION  XXV11 

upon  the  mind  of  the  reader  —  it  must  concentrate  and 
not  diffuse  attention  and  interest. 

All  of  the  same  qualities  that  inhere  in  the  short-story 
may  also  be  found  in  the  novelette,  except  that  the  novel- 
ette lacks  the  compression,  unity  and  simplicity  of  the 
short-story  and  is  therefore  really  a  short  novel.  Both 
the  novel  and  the  novelette  admit  of  sub-plots,  a  large 
number  of  minor  incidents,  and  even  of  digressions, 
whereas  these  are  denied  to  the  short-story,  which  throws 
a  white  light  on  a  single  crucial  instance  of  life,  some 
character  in  its  hour  of  crisis,  some  soul  at  the  cross- 
roads of  destiny. 

There  is  a  tendency  nowadays  to  give  a  mere  outline 
of  a  story  —  so  to  condense  it,  so  to  make  it  swift,  that 
the  narration  amounts  to  merely  an  outline  without  the 
flesh  and  blood  of  the  true  short-story.  In  other  words, 
there  is  a  tendency  to  call  a  scenario  of  a  much  longer 
story  —  for  instance  the  outline  of  a  novelette  —  a  short- 
story.  This  extreme  is  as  remote  from  the  well-rounded 
short-story  form  as  the  leisurely  novelette,  padded  out 
with  infinite  attention  to  detail. 

The  tale  differs  from  the  short-story  in  that  it  is 
merely  a  succession  of  incidents  without  any  real  sense 
of  climax  other,  for  example,  than  might  be  given  by 
the  close  of  a  man's  life,  the  ending  of  a  journey,  or  the 
closing  of  the  day.  The  tale  is  a  chain ;  the  short-story 
is  a  tree.  The  links  of  the  chain  may  be  extended  in- 
definitely, but  there  comes  a  time  when  the  tree  can  grow- 
no  longer  and  still  remain  a  perfect  tree.  The  tale  is 
practically  without  organization  and  without  plot  —  there 


XXV111  INTRODUCTION 

is  little  crisis,  and  the  result  of  the  crisis,  if  any  there  be, 
would  be  of  no  vital  importance  to-  the  characters,  for 
no  special  change  in  their  relations  to  each  other  grows 
out  of  the  crisis  in  the  tale. 

A  sketch  is  a  lighter,  shorter,  and  more  simple  form  of 
fiction  than  the  short-story.  It  exhibits  character  in  a 
certain  stationary  situation,  but  has  no  plot,  nor  does  it 
disclose  anything  like  a  crisis  from  which  a  resolution  or 
denouement  is  demanded.  It  might  almost  be  called  a 
picture  in  still  life  were  it  not  that  the  characters  are 
likely  to  live  and  to  move. 

In  these  introductory  pages  I  have  emphasized  and 
*  reemphasized  these  distinctions  in  various  ways,  because 
to  me  they  seem  to  be  important.  But  after  all  they  are 
merely  historical  and  technical.  A  man  may  be  a  charm- 
ing fellow  and  altogether  admirable  even  if  his  com- 
plexion quarrels  with  his  hair  and  his  hands  do  not  match 
his  feet  in  relative  size. 

The  present  tendency  of  the  British  and  American 
short-story  is  a  matter  of  moment  because  no  other  lit- 
erary form  commands  the  interest  of  so  many  writers 
and  readers.  All  literature  is  feeling  the  hand  of  com- 
merce, but  the  short-story  is  chiefly  threatened.  The 
magazine  is  its  forum,  and  the  magazine  must  make 
,.  money  or  suspend.  Hence  the  chief  inquiry  of  the  editor 
is,  What  stories  will  make  my  magazine  sell?  And  this 
is  his  attitude  because  his  publisher  will  no  longer  pay 
a  salary  to  an  editor  whose  magazine  must  be  endowed, 
having  no  visible  means  of  support. 


INTRODUCTION         .  XXIX 

These  conditions  force  new  standards  to  be  set  up. 
The  story  must  have  literary  merit,  it  must  be  true  to 
life,  it  must  deal  sincerely  with  great  principles  —  up  to 
the  limit  of  popularity.  Beyond  that  it  must  not  be 
literary,  truthful,  or  sincere.  Popularity  first,  then  the 
rest  —  if  possible. 

All  this  is  a  serious  indictment  of  the  average  maga- 
zine, but  it  is  true.  Only  a  few  magazines  regard  their 
fiction  as  literature  and  not  as  merely  so  much  merchan- 
dise, to  be  cut  to  suit  the  length  of  pages,  furnish  situa- 
tions for  pictures,  and  create  subscriptions  by  readers. 
Yet  somehow  this  very  commercialized  standard  is  work- 
ing much  good  in  spite  of  itself.  It  is  demanding  the 
best  workmanship,  and  is  paying  bright  men  and  women 
to  abandon  other  pursuits  in  order  to  master  a  good 
story-telling  method.  It  is  directing  the  attention  of  our 
ablest  literators  to  a  teeming  life  all  about  them  when 
otherwise  they  might  lose  themselves  in  abstractions  "  up 
in  the  air."  It  is,  for  business  reasons,  insisting  upon 
that  very  compression  to  which  Maupassant  attained  in 
the  pursuit  of  art.  It  is  building  up  a  standard  of  pre- 
cise English  which  has  already  advanced  beyond  the  best 
work  of  seventy  years  ago  —  though  it  has  lost  much  of 
its  elegance  and  dignity. 

In  a  word,  the  commercialized  short-story  is  a  mirror 
of  the  times  —  it  compasses  movement,  often  at  the  ex- 
pense of  fineness,  crowds  incidents  so  rapidly  that  the 
skeleton  has  no  space  in  which  to  wear  its  flesh,  and 
prints  stories  mediocre  and  worse  because  better  ones 
will  not  be  received  with  sufficient  applause. 


XXX  INTRODUCTION 

But  while  the  journalized  short-story  adopts  the  hasty 
standards  of  the  newspaper  because  the  public  is  too  busy 
to  be  critical,  in  some  other  respects  it  mirrors  the  times 
more  happily.  The  lessons  of  seriousness  it  utters  with 
the  lips  of  fun.  Its  favorite  implement  is  a  rake,  but  it 
does  uncover  evils  that  ought  not  to  remain  hidden. 
Finally,  it  concerns  itself  with  human  things,  and  tosses 
speculations  aside ;  it  carefully  records  our  myriad-form 
local  life  as  the  novel  cannot ;  and  it  has  wonderfully 
developed  in  all  classes  the  sense  of  what  is  a  good  story, 
and  that  is  a  question  more  fundamental  to  all  literature 
'than  some  critics  might  admit. 

Here  then  is  a  new-old  form  abundantly  worth  study, 
for  its  understanding,  its  appreciation,  and  its  practise. 
If  there  is  on  one  side  a  danger  that  form  may  become 
too  prominent  and  spirit  too  little,  there  are  balancing 
forces  to  hold  things  to  a  level.  The  problems,  projects 
and  sport's  of  the  day  are,  after  all,  the  life  of  the  day, 
and  as  such  they  furnish  rightful  themes.  Really,  signs 
are  not  wanting  that  point  to  the  truth  of  this  optimistic 
assertion:  The  mass  of  the  people  will  eventually  do 
the  right,  and  they  will  at  length  bring  out  of  the  com- 
mercialized short-story  a  vital  literary  form  too  human 
to  be  dull  and  too  artistic  to  be  bad. 


INTRODUCTION  XXXI 


SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  AND  EXERCISE  FOR 

CLASS  OR  INDIVIDUAL  STUDY  OF  A 

SHORT-STORY 

1.  Estimating  from  an   average  page,  how   many   words  has 
this  story? 

2.  What  type  of  story  is  it  chiefly? 

3.  Does  it  subordinately  illustrate  any  other  types  also?     If 
so,  which? 

4.  Is  the  title  adequate? 

5.  What  is  its  theme? 

6.  Write  out  a  brief  scenario  of  the  plot. 

7.  Are  the  incidents  arranged  in  effective  order? 

8.  How  many  characters   (a)   speak,   (b)   are  present  but  do 
not  speak,  (c)  are  referred  to  but  are  not  present? 

9.  Are  the  characters  idealized,  or  are  they  quite  true  to  life? 

10.  Are    the    characters    individualized?     Point    out    how    the 
author  accomplishes  this  result. 

11.  What  is  the  author's  attitude  toward  his  characters? 

12.  What  is  the  proportion  of  dialogue  to  description  and  com- 
ment? 

13.  What  do  you  think  of  the  dialogue? 

14.  Do  you  regard  this  story  as  being  realistic,  romantic,  ideal- 
istic, or  composite? 

15.  Is  the  author's  purpose  apparent?     If  so,  what  is  it? 

16.  Are  there  any  weak  points  in  the  plot? 

17.  Is  the  introduction  interesting  and  clear? 

18.  Does  the  story  end  satisfactorily? 

19.  Is  the  conclusion  either  too  long  or  too  short? 

20.  Would  any  parts  of  the  story  be  improved  either  by  short- 
ening or  by  expanding?     Be  specific. 

21.  Does  the   story  arouse  in  you   any  particular   feeling,  or 
mood? 

22.  What  are  the  especially  strong  points  of  the  story? 

23.  Write   a   general    appreciation,    using   about   two   hundred 
words. 

:*4.  What  is  the  final  impression  the  story  makes  upon  you? 


XXX11  INTRODUCTION 

NOTE 

Nine  distinct  methods  for  the  study  of  a  novel  are  outlined  in 
the  appendix  to  The  Study  of  a  Novel,  by  Selden  L.  Whitcomb. 
Some  of  these  may  be  applied  to  the  short-story.  Some  excellent 
study  methods  and  questions  are  given  in  The  Writing  of  the 
Short  Story,  by  Lewis  Worthington  Smith. 


STORIES  OF  ACTION  AND 
ADVENTURE 

Mateo  Falcone. —  PROSPER  MERIMEE, 
A  Lodging  for  the  Night. —  ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON. 


But  the  great  majority  of  novels  and  plays  represent  human 
life  in  nothing  more  faithfully  than  in  their  insistence  upon 
deeds.  It  is  through  action  —  tangible,  visible  action  upon  the 
stage,  or,  in  the  novel,  action  suggested  by  the  medium  of  words 
—  that  the  characters  of  the  play  and  the  novel  are  ordinarily 
revealed.  In  proportion  as  high  art  is  attained  in  either  medium 
of  expression  this  action  is  marked  by  adequacy  of  motive,  by 
conformity  to  the  character,  by  progression  and  unity. —  BLISS 
PERRY,  A  Study  of  Prose  Fiction. 


Studying  The  Short-Story 


STORIES  OF  ACTION  AND  ADVENTURE 

Few  words  are  needed  to  set  forth  the  meaning  of  this 
caption,  for  the  designation  is  sufficiently  explicit.  One 
point,  however,  it  will  be  well  to  emphasize:  In  fiction 
all  action  worthy  of  the  name  is  the  outward  manifesta- 
tion of  an  inward  condition.  There  is  a  sense,  therefore, 
in  which  all  stories  that  are  not  mere  pictures  of  internal 
states  are  stories  of  action ;  just  as  it  may  be  said  that 
all  stories  are  stories  of  thought,  feeling,  and  resolve. 
The  point  of  distinction  lies  here:  in  which  direction 
does  the  story  tend? 

In  one  class,  outward  action  is  seen  to  work  profoundly 
upon  the  inward  life,  and  the  story  shows  us  the  work- 
ings of  this  influence  in  its  final  effect  upon  the  inward 
man  and  his  character.  In  another,  an  inward  state  is 
the  basis,  the  premise,  the  initial  force,  in  the  story,  and 
from  that  beginning  the  story  goes  on  to  show  by  a  series 
of  outward  movements  just  how  this  great  inward  force 
operates  in  and  upon  conduct.  In  a  third  class,  outward 
and  inward  action  balance. 


4  STUDYING    TIil<:    SHORT-STORY 

Now  when  the  outward  or  visible  action,  prominently 
displaying  physical  movement,  becomes  paramount, 
whether  shown  as  cause  or  as  effect,  we  have  the  action- 
story,  and  sometimes  the  adventure-story.  And  in  pro- 
portion as  the  interest  of  the  reader  centers  in  what  the 
characters  do  instead  of  in  what  they  are,  the  story  de- 
parts from  the  subtler  forms,  such  as  the  character-study 
and  the  psychological-study,  and  action  or  adventure  be- 
comes the  type.  Reverse  these  conditions,  and  another 
sort  is  the  result. 

Naturally,  many  variations  are  possible  with  these  two 
chief  ingredients  ready  for  use.  One  story  may  begin 
with  soul  action,  then  proceed  to  show  us  bodily  action 
with  great  vividness,  and  end  by  taking  us  back  into  the 
man's  inner  life.  Another  may  progress  on  contrary 
lines;  and  so  on,  in  wide  variety.  The  final  test  as  to 
what  is  the  predominating  type  lies  in  the  appeal  to  the 
interest  of  the  reader:  is  it  based  chiefly  on  what  the 
characters  are  or  on  what  they  do?  Is  it  the  why,  or  the 
how,  the  motive  or  the  happening,  that  is  most  absorbing  ? 
The  best  stories,  even  the  best  action  and  adventure  yarns, 
are  likely  to  show  a  fair  proportion  of  both. 

AND  HIS. WRITINGS 

Prosper  Merimee  was  born  in  Paris,  September  28, 
1803.  His  father,  a  Norman,  was  a  professor  in  the 
£cole  des  Beaux-Arts,  and  his  mother,  Anne  Moreau, 
who  had  English  blood  in  her  veins,  was  also  an  artist. 
Prosper  attended  the  College  Henri  IV,  and  in  the  home 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  5 

of  his  parents  met  the  literati  of  the  day.  He  undertook 
the  study  of  law,  but  soon  abandoned  it,  and  spent  some 
years  in  observing  life  while  journeying  abroad.  He 
made  much  of  ancient  and  modern  languages,  becoming 
especially  proficient  in  Spanish.  Upon  his  return  to 
Paris  he  served  in  public  office,  and  held  the  post  of 
Inspector  General  of  Public  Monuments  until  declining 
health  compelled  him  to  retire.  He  was  elected  to  sev- 
eral learned  societies  and  became  a  commander  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  and,  in  1844,  a  member  of  the  French 
Academy.  Nine  years  later  he  was  made  a  Senator  of 
France,  an  honor  he  owed  to  the  friendship  of  the 
Empress  Eugenie.  He  died  at  Cannes  on  the  23rd  of 
September,  1870,  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven. 

Prosper  Merirnee  was  a  successful  poet,  translator, 
novelist,  and  short-story  writer.  His  translations  of  the 
Russian  novelists  have  been  pronounced  excellent. 
"  Colomba "  is  a  romantic  novelette  of  singular  power 
and  charm.  His  most  famous  short-stories  are  "  The 
Taking  of  the  Redoubt,"  "  Tamango,"  "  Federigo," 
"The  Etruscan  Vase,"  "The  Vision  of  Charles  XI," 
"  The  Venus  of  Hie,"  "  The  Pearl  of  Toledo,"  "  Carmen  " 
(on  which  Bizet's  opera  is  founded),  "  Arsene  Guillot," 
and  "  Mateo  Falcone  " ;  which  follows,  in  a  translation 
by  the  editor  of  this  volume.  It  was  first  published  in 
the  Revue  de  Paris,  May,  1829. 

Among  French  masters  of  the  short-story,  Merimee 
easily  holds  place  in  the  first  rank.  Both  personality  and 
genius  are  his,  and  both  well  repay  careful  study.  He 


6  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

was  an  alert  student  of  history,  to  whom  its  anecdotal 
side  made  strongest  appeal.  The  detached,  impersonal, 
unprejudiced  attitude  of  the  historian  is  seen  in  his  short- 
stories,  for  he  tells  his  narrative  impartially,  with  a  sort 
of  take-it-or-leave-it  air,  allowing  the  story  to  make  its 
own  appeal  without  any  special  pleading  on  his  part. 
His  story-telling  manner  is,  therefore,  one  of  ironical 
coldness.  He  delighted  to  tell  his  tales  in  the  matter-of- 
fact  manner  of  the  casual  traveller  who  has  picked  up  a 
good  yarn  and  passes  it  on  just  as  it  was  told  him.  And 
this  literary  attitude  was  a  reflex  of  his  personality.  To 
him,  to  love  deeply  was  to  endure  pain,  to  follow  impulse 
was  to  court  trouble,  to  cherish  enthusiasms  was  to  delude 
the  mind,  so  he  schooled  himself  to  appear  impassive. 
Yet  now  and  then  in  his  lucid  and  clear-cut  stories,  as  in 
his  urbane  life,  a  certain  sweetness  is  revealed  which 
speaks  alluringly  of  the  tender  spirit  within. 

All  my  life  I  have  sought  to  free  myself  from  prejudices,  to 
be  a  citizen  of  the  world  before  being  a  Frenchman,  but  now  all 
these  garments  of  philosophy  are  nothing  to  me.  To-day  I  bleed 
for  the  wounds  of  the  foolish  French,  I  mourn  for  their  humilia- 
tions, and,  however  ungrateful  and  absurd  they  may  be,  I  love 
them  still. —  PROSPER  MERIMEE,  letter  to  Madame  de  Beaulain- 
court  (Marquise  de  Castellane),  written,  ten  days  before  his 
death,  on  hearing  from  his  friend  Thiers  that  the  disaster  of 
Sedan  was  irreparable  and  that  the  Empire  was  a  thing  of  the 
past 

A  gallant  man  and  a  gentleman,  he  has  had  the  reward  he  would 
have  wished.  He  has  been  discreetly  and  intimately  enjoyed  by 
delicate  tastes.  ...  It  was  his  rare  talent  to  give  us  those  limpid, 
rapid,  full  tales,  that  one  reads  in  an  hour,  re-reads  in  a  day, 
which  fill  the  memory  and  occupy  the  thoughts  forever. —  £MILE 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  7 

FAGUET,  quoted  by  GRACE  KING,  in  C.  D.  WARNER'S  Library  of 
the  World's  Best  Literature. 

Colombo,  Mateo  Falcone,  La  Double  Meprise,  La  Venus  d'llle, 
L'Enlevement  de  la  Redoute,  Lokis,  have  equals,  but  no  superiors, 
either  in  French  prose  fiction  or  in  French  prose.  Grasp  of 
human  character,  reserved  but  masterly  description  of  scenery, 
delicate  analysis  of  motive,  ability  to  represent  the  supernatural, 
pathos,  grandeur,  simple  narrative  excellence,  appear  turn  by 
turn  in  these  wonderful  pieces,  as  they  appear  hardly  anywhere 
else.—  GEORGE  SAINTSBURY,  A  Short  History  of  French  Literature. 

While  inferior  to  Stendhal  as  a  psychologist,  notwithstanding 
the  keenness  of  his  analysis,  he  excels  him  in  opening  out  and 
developing  action,  and  in  composing  a  work  whose  parts  hang 
well  together.  In  addition  he  possesses  a  "  literary  "  style, —  not 
the  style  of  an  algebraist,  but  that  of  an  exact,  self-sustained 
writer.  He  attains  the  perfection  of  form  in  his  particular  line. 
Nearly  all  his  stories  are  masterpieces  of  that  rather  dry  and 
hard,  though  forceful,  nervous,  and  pressing  style,  which  consti- 
tutes him  one  of  the  most  original  and  most  characteristic  novel- 
ists of  the  century. —  GEORGES  PELLISSIER,  The  Literary  Movement 
in  France. 

I  do  not  scruple  to  apply  the  word  great  to  Merimee,  a  word 
which  is  not  to  be  used  lightly,  but  of  which  he  is  thoroughly 
deserving.  His  style  is  the  purest  and  clearest  of  our  century ; 
no  better  model  could  possibly  be  found  for  our  present  genera- 
tion. His  prose,  to  my  mind,  together  with  that  of  Musset, 
Fromentin,  and  Renan,  is  the  most  beautiful  modern  prose  which 
has  ever  been  written  in  the  French  language.  Like  the  great 
classics  of  the  I7th  century,  he  never  wrote  a  passage  merely  to 
please  the  eye  or  the  ear;  his  sole  aim  was  to  express  thought, 
and  the  colour  of  his  language,  which  is  so  pre-eminently  true  to 
nature,  is  of  a  rare  sobriety;  he  never  studies  effect,  and,  never- 
theless, invariably  attains  it. —  EDOUARD  GRENIER,  Literary  Remi- 
niscences. 


8  STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 


FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON  M^RIMEE 

Miscellaneous  Studies,  Walter  Pater  (1895)  ;  Modern 
French  Literature,  Benjamin  W.  Wells  (1896)  ;  Contes 
et  Nouvelles,  by  Prosper  Merimee,  edited  by  J.  E.  Michell 
(1907)  ;  A  Century  of  French  Fiction,  Benjamin  W. 
Wells  (1898)  ;  Prosper  Merimee,  Arthur  Symonds,  in  A 
Century  of  French  Romance,  edited  by  Edmund  W. 
Gosse  (1901)  ;  Six  Masters  in  Disillusion,  Algar  Therold 
(1909). 

MATEO  FALCONE 

BY    PROSPER    MERIMEE 

Translation  by  The  Editor 

NOTE:  The  technical  terms  used  in  the  marginal  notes  explanatory  of 
the  short-stories  throughout  this  work  follow  the  terminology  used  and 
treated  fully  in  the  present  author's  Writing  the  Short-Story. 

As  one  comes  out  of  Porto-Vec-  A  story  of  local-color  be- 
chio,  and  turns  northwest  toward  the  cause  *he  Corsican  cus- 

,      ,        .  ,        ,      ,,  ,     .  toms    determine    the    desti- 

center  of  the  island,  the  ground  is  nies  of  the  characters.  It 
seen  to  rise  quite  rapidly,  and  after  is  equally  a  character- 
three  hours'  walk  by  tortUOUS  paths,  study  and  a  psychological 
blocked  by  large  masses  of  rocks,  and  study-  Note  how  charac' 

.  ,  ters     harmonize    with     set- 

sometimes  cut  by  ravines,  the  traveler          ting>  throughout 
finds  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  very       Setting    is    minutely    given, 
extensive  niaquis.    This  bush  is  the          yet  not  diffusely. 
home  of  the  Corsican  shepherds,  and 
of  whomsoever  has  come  into  con- 
flict with  the  law.    It  is  well  known 
that   the   Corsican  laborer,   to   spare 
himself  the  trouble  of  fertilizing  his 
lands,  sets  fire  to  a  certain  stretch  of 
forest;    so    much    the   worse   if   the 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND   ADVENTURE 


flames  spread  further  than  is  needed ; 
whatever  happens,  he  is  sure  to  have 
a  good  harvest  by  sowing  upon  this 
ground,  enriched  by  the  ashes  of  the 
very  trees  which  it  grows.  When  the 
corn  is  plucked,  he  leaves  the  straw, 
because  it  is  too  much  trouble  to 
gather  it.  The  roots,  which  have  re- 
mained in  the  ground  without  being 
harmed,  sprout  in  the  following 
spring  into  very  thick  shoots,  which 
in  a  few  years  attain  a  height  of 
seven  or  eight  feet.  This  sort  of  un- 
der-wood it  is  that  they  call  maquis. 
It  is  composed  of  different  kinds  of 
trees  and  shrubs,  all  mixed  and  tan- 
gled, just  as  they  were  planted  by 
God.  Only  with  the  hatchet  in  hand 
can  a  man  open  a  passage,  and  there 
are  maquis  so  dense  and  so  tufted 
that  even  the  wild  sheep  can  not 
penetrate  them. 

2.  If  you  have  killed   a   man,   go 
into    the    maquis    of    Porto- Vecchio, 
and   with   a   good   gun   and   powder 
and  ball,  you  will  live  there  in  safety. 
Do  not  forget  a  brown  cloak  with  a 
hood,  which  serves  as  a  coverlet  and 
a  mattress.    The  shepherds  will  give 
you  milk,  cheese,  and  chestnuts,  and 
you  will  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
justice,  nor  from  the  relatives  of  the 
dead   man,    unless    it   be    when    you 
have  to  go   down  into  the  town  to 
renew  your  munitions. 

3.  The    house    of    Mateo    Falcone, 
when  I  was  in  Corsica  in  18 — ,  was 
half  a  league  from  this  maquis.    He 
was    a    comparatively    rich    man    for 


One  of  Merimee's  deft  per- 
sonal touches,  as  though 
he  were  telling  the  story 
to  Corsicans. 

Why  "  brown  "? 


The      vendetta.     See      Meri- 
mee's   novelette    Colombo. 


Sense  of  reality.  Setting 
becomes  specific.  Begins 
with  social  characteriza- 
tion. 


10 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


that  country,  living  nobly,  that  is  to 
say,  without  doing  anything,  on  the 
products  of  his  herds,  which  the 
shepherds,  a  species  of  nomads,  led 
to  pasture  here  and  there  on  the 
mountains.  When  I  saw  him,  two 
years  after  the  event  which  I  am 
about  to  relate,  he  seemed  to  me 
about  fifty  years  of  age  at  the  most. 
Picture  a  small,  but  robust  man,  with 
curly  hair  black  as  jet,  and  aquiline 
nose,  lips  thin,  large  and  animated 
eyes,  and  a  deeply  tanned  complex- 
ion. His  skill  in  shooting  was  con- 
sidered extraordinary,  even  in  his 
country,  where  there  were  so  many 
good  shots.  For  example,  Mateo 
would  never  fire  on  a  sheep  with 
buckshot,  but  at  a  hundred  and 
twenty  paces  he  would  bring  it  down 
with  a  bullet  in  its  head,  or  in  the 
shoulder,  as  he  chose.  At  night  he 
could  use  his  gun  as  easily  as  by  day, 
and  they  told  me  the  following  ex- 
ample of  his  skill,  which  will  perhaps 
seem  incredible  to  those  who  have 
not  traveled  in  Corsica.  At  eighty 
paces,  a  lighted  candle  was  placed  be- 
hind a  transparent  piece  of  paper  as 
large  as  a  plate.  He  took  aim,  then 
the  candle  was  extinguished,  and  af- 
ter a  moment  in  the  most  complete 
darkness,  he  shot  and  pierced  the 
transparency  three  times  out  of  four. 
4.  With  a  talent  so  surpassing, 
Mateo  Falcone  had  gained  a  great 
reputation.  He  was  said  to  be  as 
loyal  a  friend  as  he  was  dangerous 
an  enemy.  Otherwise  obliging  and 


Note  force  of  "  nobly." 


Proceeds  to   physical  charac- 
terization. 


Hint  of  climax. 


Illustrative  anecdotes. 


Advances    to    moral    charac 
terization. 


STORIES    OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE 


II 


charitable,  he  lived  at  peace  with 
everyone  in  the  district  of  Porto- 
Vecchio.  But  they  tell  of  him  that 
when  at  Corte,  where  he  had  gotten 
a  wife,  he  had  very  vigorously  freed 
himself  of  a  rival  who  was  reputed 
to  be  as  redoubtable  in  war  as  in 
love;  at  all  events,  people  attributed 
to  Mateo  a  certain  gunshot  which 
surprised  this  rival  as  he  was  shav- 
ing before  a  small  mirror  hung  in 
his  window. 

5.  The  affair  having  been  hushed 
up,   Mateo  married.    His   wife   Giu- 
seppa  had   first  presented   him   with 
three      daughters      (which     enraged 
him),  but  finally  a  son  came,  whom 
he    named    Fortunato :    he    was    the 
hope  of  the  family,  the  inheritor  of 
the  name.     The  girls  were  well  mar- 
ried;   their    father   could    reckon,   in 
case  of  need,  upon  the  poniards  and 
rifles    of    his    sons-in-law.    The    son 
was  only  ten  years  old,  but  he  was 
already  showing  signs  of  a  promis- 
ing disposition. 

6.  On  a  certain  day  in  autumn,  Ma- 
teo   and    his    wife    set   out   early   to 
visit  one  of  their  flocks  in  a  clearing 
of  maquis.    Little  Fortunato  wished 
to  accompany  them,  but  the  clearing 
was  too  far  away;  besides,  someone 
must  stay  to  guard  the  house ;  so  the 
father  refused:  we  shall  soon  see  if 
he  had  no  occasion  to  repent. 

7.  He    had    been    gone    for    some 
hours,  and  little  Fortunato  was  tran- 
quilly stretched  out  in  the  sunshine, 
looking   at  the  blue  mountains,   and 


Further    anecdote. 


Primitive  ideals. 

Central  character  introduced 
unobtrusively. 


Vendetta  and  clan  spirit. 


Introduction     ends. 


ACTION      BEGINS. 
tion  for  crisis. 


Founda- 


FIRST  PLOT  INCIDENT.  (A 
plot  incident  is  essential 
to  a  plot;  to  change  it 
would  be  to  alter  the  plot 
materially.) 

An    old-style   literary   device. 

Setting  in  contrast  with 
crisis  about  to  appear. 


12 


STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 


All  the  footnotes  are  by 
Merimee. 

Action  now  supersedes  set- 
ting. 


Note    force    of    "  irregular.' 


Dramatic  introduction  of  a 
leading  character,  and 
preparation  for  first  crisis. 

SECOND   PLOT   INCIDENT. 


thinking  that  on  the  next  Sunday  he 
would  be  going  to  town  to  dine  with 
his  uncle  the  corporal,1  when  he  was 
suddenly  interrupted  in  his  medita- 
tions by  the  firing  of  a  gun.  He  got 
up  and  turned  toward  that  side  of 
the  plain  from  which  the  sound  had 
come.  Other  gunshots  followed, 
fired  at  irregular  intervals,  and  each 
time  they  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
At  last  on  the  path  which  led  from 
the  plain  to  Mateo's  house,  appeared 
a  man  wearing  a  cap  pointed  like 
those  worn  by  the  mountaineers.  He 
was  bearded  and  covered  with  rags, 
and  dragged  himself  along  with  dif- 
ficulty by  leaning  on  his  gun.  He 
had  just  received  a  gunshot  wound 
in  the  thigh. 

8.  This  man  was  a  bandit,2  who 
having  set  out  at  night  to  get  some 
powder  from  the  town,  had  fallen  on 
the  way  into  an  ambush  of  Corsican 
soldiers.3  After  a  vigorous  defense 
he  had  succeeded  in  making  his  re- 
treat, hotly  pursued  and  skirmishing 
from  rock'  to  rock.  But  he  had 
gained  only  a  little  on  the  soldiers, 
and  his  wound  made  it  hopeless  for 

1  AUTHOR'S  NOTE. —  Corporals  were  formerly  the  chief  officers  of  the  Cor- 
sican communes  after  they  had  rebelled  against  their  feudal  lords.     To-day 
they  still  occasionally  give  the  name  to  a  man  who  —  because  of  his  prop- 
erty, his  relationships,  and  his  business  —  commands  a  certain  influence,  and 
a  sort  of  effective  magistracy  over  a  parish  or  a  canton.     The  Corsicans  di- 
vide themselves,  after  ancient  custom,  into  five  castes:  gentlemen   (of  whom 
some,  magnifiques,  are  of  higher  estate,  and  some  of  lower,  signon),  cor- 
porals, citizens,  plebeians,  and  foreigners. 

2  AUTHOR'S  NOTE. —  This  word  is  synonymous  with  outlaw. 

•  AUTHOR'S  NOTE. —  Voltigevtrs,  that  is,  a  body  raised  by  the  government 
of  late  years  which  acts  in  conjunction  with  the  police  to  maintain  order. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE 


Crisp   dialogue    gives   feeling 
of    intensity. 


him  to  reach  the  maquis  before  being 
overtaken. 

9.  He    approached    Fortunate    and 
said  to  him : 

10.  "  You    are   the   son   of    Mateo 
Falcone?" 

11.  "Yes." 

12.  "  I    am    Gianetto    Sanpiero.    I 
am  pursued   by   the  yellow  collars.4 
Hide  me,  for  I  can  go  no  further." 

13.  "  And  what  will  my  father  say 
if    I    hide    you    without   his    permis- 
sion ?  " 

14.  "  He    will    say    that    you    have 
done  right." 

15.  "How  do  you  know?" 

16.  "Hide    me    quickly;    they    are 
coming." 

17.  "Wait  till  my  father  comes." 

18.  "  How    can    I    wait !    A   curse 
upon  it!     They  will  be  here  in  five 
minutes.     Come,  hide  me,  or  I  will 
kill  you." 

19.  Fortunate   answered   him   with 
the  utmost  coolness: 

20.  "  Your  gun  is  empty,  and  there 
are  no  more  cartridges  in  your  car- 
chera."  5 

21.  "  I  have  my  stiletto." 

22.  "  But  could  you  run  as  fast  as 
I  can?" 

23.  He  gave  a  leap,  and  put  him- 
self out  of  reach. 

24.  "  You  are  no  son  of  Mateo  Fal- 

4  AUTHOR'S   NOTE. —  The    uniform   of    the    voltigeurs   was   at    that   period 
brown,  with  a  yellow  collar. 

5  AUTHOR'S  NOTE. —  A  leather  belt  which  served  the  joint   purpose  of  a 
cartridge  box  and  pocket  for  dispatches  and  orders. 


Note  the  lad's  constant  cool- 
ness,   and    sly    calculation. 


STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 


cone!     Will  you  then  allow  me  to  be 
taken  in  front  of  your  home?  " 

25.  The  child  seemed  to  be  touched. 

26.  "  What  will  you  give  me  if  I 
hide  you  ? "   he  asked  him,  drawing 
nearer. 

27.  The  fugitive  felt  in  the  leather 
pouch  that  hung  at  his  belt,  and  took 
out  a  five-franc  piece,  which  he  had 
reserved,     no     doubt,     for     powder. 
Fortunato  smiled  at  sight  of  the  piece 
of  money,  and  seizing  hold  of  it,  he 
said  to  Gianetto : 

28.  "  Fear  nothing !  " 

29.  He  quickly  made  a  large  hole 
in   a   haystack   which   stood   near   by 
the  house,   Gianetto   crouched   down 
in  it,  and  the  child  covered  him  up 
in   such   a  way   as   to   leave   a   little 
space  for  breathing,  without  making 
it  possible  for  any  one  to  suspect  that 
the  hay  concealed  a  man.    He  acted, 
still   further,  with  the  cunning  of  a 
tricky  savage.    He  went  and  brought 
a  cat  and  her  kittens,  and  set  them 
on  top  of  the  haystack  to  make  be- 
lieve  that   it  had   not  been   recently 
touched.    Then    noticing    the    blood- 
stains on  the  path  near  the  house,  he 
carefully    covered    them    with    dust. 
This  done,  he  lay  down  again  in  the 
sun  with  the  utmost  calmness. 

30.  Some  minutes  later  six  men  in 
brown  uniforms  with  yellow  collars, 
commanded  by  an  adjutant,  stood  be- 
fore   Mateo's    door.    This    adjutant 
was  a  distant  relative  of  Falcone  — 
for  in  Corsica  more  remote  degrees 
of   relationship   are    recognized   than 


The  right  of  asylum  to  kin 
is  sacred  to  primitive  peo- 
ples. 

Note  force  of  "  seemed." 


Crisis  particularized. 
PLOT   INCIDENT    PARTICULAR- 
IZED. 

Shows  value   of  the  reward. 


Revelation   of  character. 
RESOLUTION  OF  FIRST  CRISIS. 


Author's     real     estimate     of 
the  boy. 


THIRD  PLOT  INCIDENT. 
See  H  12. 

A  deputy  in  command. 


Note     complication     by     this 
relationship. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE 


elsewhere.  His  name  was  Tidora 
Gamba;  he  was  an  energetic  man, 
greatly  feared  by  the  banditti,  many 
of  whom  he  had  already  hunted 
down. 

31.  "  Good    day,    little    cousin,"    he 
said,  coming  up  to  Forttmato.    "  How 
you  have  grown !     Have  you  seen  a 
man  passing  just  now?" 

32.  "  Oh,  I  am  not  so  tall  as  you, 
Cousin,"  the  child  replied  with  a  fool- 
ish look. 

33.  "  That  time's  coming.    But  have 
you  not  seen  a  man  pass  by?  —  Tell 
me." 

34.  "  If   I   have    seen    a   man   pass 
by?" 

35.  "  Yes,    a   man   with    a   pointed 
cap  and  a  waistcoat  embroidered  in 
red  and  yellow?  " 

36.  "A   man    with    a    pointed    cap 
and  a  waistcoat  embroidered  in  red 
and  yellow  ?  " 

37.  "  Yes ;     answer     quickly,     and 
don't  repeat  my  questions." 

38.  "  This     morning     Monsieur     le 
Cure  passed  our  door  on  his  horse 
Piero.     He  asked  me  how  papa  was, 
and  I  told  him  — " 

39.  "Ah,  you  little  rascal,  you  are 
making    game    of    me!     Tell    me    at 
once  which  way  Gianetto  went,  for 
it  is  he  that  we  are  after,  and  I  am 
certain  he  took  this  path." 

40.  "  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

41.  "How     do     I    know     that?     I 
know  you  have  seen  him." 

42.  "  Does      one      see      passers-by 
when  one  is  asleep?" 


Crisis  recurs. 


Cunning    in     character 
ther  revealed. 


fur- 


Suspense. 


Child's  crafty  nature  increas- 
ingly  disclosed. 


i6 


STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 


43.  "  You  were  not  asleep,  you  lit- 
tle demon ;  the  gunshots  would  have 
waked  you." 

44.  "  You  think,  then,  Cousin,  that 
your  guns  make  a  great  noise?     My 
father's  rifle  makes  much  more." 

45.  "  May  the  devil  confound  you, 
you  young  scamp !     I  am  sure  enough 
that  you  have   seen   Gianetto.     Per- 
haps   you    have    even    hidden    him. 
Here,  comrades,  go  into  this  house, 
and    see    if    our    man    is    not    there. 
He  could  walk  only  on  one  foot,  and 
he  has  too  much  good  sense,  the  ras- 
cal,  to   have  tried  to  reach  the   ma- 
quis  limping.     Besides,  the  marks  of 
blood  stop  here." 

46.  "Whatever    will    papa     say!" 
asked    Fortunato,    with    a    chuckle; 
"  what  will  he  say  when  he  finds  out 
that  his  house  has  been  entered  while 
he  was  away !  " 

47.  "  Good-for-nothing !  "  cried  the 
adjutant  Gamba,  taking  him  by  the 
ear,  "  do  you  know  that  I  am  able  to 
make  you   change  your  tune?     Per- 
haps when  I  have  given  you  a  score 
or  more  thwacks  with  the  flat  of  a 
sword,  you  will  speak  at  last !  " 

48.  But  Fortunato  still  laughed  de- 
risively. 

49.  "  My  father  is  Mateo  Falcone !  " 
he  said  with  energy. 

50.  "  Do  you  know,  you  little  rogue, 
that  I  can  carry  you  off  to  Corte,  or 
to  Bastia?     I'll  make  you  sleep  in  a 
dungeon,  on  a  pallet  of  straw,  your 
feet  in  irons,  and  I'll  have  you  guillo- 


Sly  appeal  to  the  fear  in- 
spired by  Mateo's  reputa- 
tion. 


Note  use  of  suspense 
throughout.  The  story  is 
one  long  crisis. 


STORIES    OF    ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE 


tined,    if   you    don't    tell    me    where 
Gianetto  Sanpiero  is." 

51.  The  child  burst  out  laughing  at 
this     foolish    threat.    He     only     re- 
peated : 

52.  "  My  father  is  Mateo  Falcone  !  " 

53.  "Adjutant,"   whispered   one  of 
the  voltigeurs,  "  we'd  better  not  em- 
broil ourselves  with  Mateo." 

54.  Gamba    seemed    evidently    em- 
barrassed.   He  talked  in  a  low  voice 
with  his   soldiers,   who  had   already 
been  through  the  house.     It  was  not 
a  lengthy  operation,  for  the  cabin  of 
a  Corsican  consists  of  only  a  single 
square    room.    The    furniture    com- 
prises a  table,  some  benches,  a  few 
boxes,  and  utensils  for  hunting  and 
housekeeping.     Meanwhile,  little  For- 
tunato  caressed  his  cat,  and  seemed 
maliciously  to  enjoy  the  embarrass- 
ment of  the  voltigeurs  and  his  cousin. 

55.  One  soldier  came  up  to  the  hay- 
stack.   He  looked  at  the  cat  and  care- 
lessly gave  a  dig  at  the  hay  with  his 
bayonet,  shrugging  his  shoulders  as 
if   he   thought    the    precaution    were 
ridiculous.     Nothing  stirred,  and  the 
face  of  the  child  did  ^not  betray  the 
least  emotion. 

56.  The    adjutant    and    his    troop 
were  in  despair;  they  were  looking 
seriously    toward    the    edge    of    the 
plain,  as  though  disposed  to   return 
the  way  they  had  come;  when  their 
chief  —  convinced  that  threats  would 
produce  no   effect   upon   the   son  of 
Falcone  —  thought    he    would    make 


Compare  with  ^  4  and  ^  49. 


Setting  is  thus  interwoven 
with  the  story,  though 
slightly. 


Character  revelation. 


Suspense  augmented. 


More  crafty  coolness. 


i8 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


one  last  effort  by  trying  the  power  of 
cajoleries  and  presents. 

57.  "Little  Cousin,"  he  said,  "you 
seem  to  be  a  wide-awake  young  fel- 
low enough.     You  will  get  on!     But 
you  play  a  mean  trick  with  me;  and, 
if  I  did  not  fear  to  give  pain  to  my 
cousin  Mateo,  devil  take  me,  I'd  carry 
you  off  with  me  I  " 

58.  "  Bah !  " 

59.  "  But,  when  my  cousin  returns 
I  shall  relate  to  him  the  whole  af- 
fair, and  for  your  having  gone  to  the 
trouble  to  tell  me  a  lie,  he  will  give 
you  the  whip  till  he  draws  blood." 

60.  "Do  you  know  that?" 

61.  "  You'll  find  out !     But,  see  here 
—  be  a  good  lad,  and  I'll  give  you 
something." 

62.  "  I,  my   Cousin,  will  give  you 
some  advice  —  it  is,  that  if  you  delay 
any  more  Gianetto  will  reach  the  ma- 
quis,  then  it  will  take  a  cleverer  fel- 
low to  go  and  hunt  for  him." 

63.  The    adjutant    drew    from    his 
pocket  a  silver  watch  worth  quite  ten 
crowns ;    and    seeing   how    the    little 
Fortunato's    eyes    sparkled    when    he 
looked  at  it,  he  said,  as  he  held  the 
watch   suspended  at  the   end   of   its 
steel  chain : 

64.  "  You   rogue !   you   would   like 
very  well  to  have  such  a  watch  as 
this  hung  round  your  neck,  and  to  go 
and  promenade  the  streets  of  Porto- 
Vecchio,  proud  as  a  peacock;  people 
would  ask  you,  'What  time  is  it?' 
and  you  would  reply,  '  Look  at  my 
watch ! ' " 


The  turn  in  the  plot. 
FOUNDATION         FOR        MAIN 
CRISIS. 


Main   crisis   augmented. 


PLOT    INCIDENT    PARTICULAR. 

IZED. 


Character  appeal 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE 

65.  "When    I    am   grown    up,    my 
uncle    the    corporal   will   give   me    a 
watch." 

66.  "  Yes ;  but  your  uncle's  son  has 
one  already  —  not  such  a  fine  one  as 
this,    it    is    true  —  of    course,    he    is 
younger  than  you." 

67.  The  child  sighed. 

68.  "  Well,    would    you    like    this 
watch,  little  Cousin?" 

69.  Fortunate,  ogling  the  watch  out       Suspense, 
of  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  looked  just 

as  a  cat  does  when  they  suddenly  of- 
fer it  a  chicken.  Because  it  is  afraid 
a  joke  is  being  played  on  it,  it  dares 
not  pounce  upon  its  prey,  and  from  Illustration, 
time  to  time  it  turns  away  its  eyes  so 
as  not  to  succumb  to  the  temptation ; 
but  it  constantly  licks  its  chop*,  as  if 
to  say  to  its  master,  "But  your  joke 
is  a  cruel  one  I  " 

70.  However,  the  adjutant  Gamba 
seemed  to  be  offering  the  watch  in 
good  faith.     Fortunato  did  not  hold 
out  his  hand,  but  he  said  to  him  with 
a  bitter  smile: 

71.  "Why  do  you  jest  with  me?" 

72.  "By  Heaven,  I  am  not  joking! 
Only  tell  me  where  Gianetto  is  and 
this  watch  is  yours." 

73.  Fortunato  allowed  an  incredu-      Compare  with  J  67. 
lous  sigh  to  escape  him;  and,  fixing 

his  black  eyes  on  those  of  the  adju- 
tant, he  sought  to  find  in  them  the 
faith  he  wished  to  have  in  his  words. 

74.  "  May  I  lose  my  epaulets,"  cried 
the  adjutant,  "if  I  do  not  give  you 
the  watch  on  these  terms !    My  com- 


20 


STUDYING    THE    SHORT-STORY 


rades  are  witnesses,  and  I  cannot  go 
back  on  my  word  !  " 

75.  So  speaking,  he  held  the  watch 
nearer  and  nearer  until  it  almost 
touched  the  pale  cheeks  of  the  child, 
whose  face  showed  plainly  the  com- 
bat going  on  in  his  heart  between 
covetousness  and  his  respect  for  the 
laws  of  hospitality.  His  bare  breast 
heaved  violently,  and  he  seemed  to  be 
almost  stifling.  All  the  time  the 
watch  dangled  and  turned,  and  some- 
times grazed  the  tip  of  his  nose.  At 
length,  little  by  little,  his  right  hand 
lifted  toward  the  watch,  the  ends  of 
his  fingers  touched  it,  and  it  rested 
wholly  on  his  palm,  except  that  the 
adjutant  still  loosely  held  the  end  of 
the  chain.  The  face  was  blue,  the 
case  was  newly  polished  —  in  the  sun- 
shine it  seemed  to  be  all  afire.  The 
temptation  was  too  strong. 

76.  So    Fortunate    raised    his    left 
hand    and    with    his    thumb    pointed 
over    his    shoulder    to    the    haystack 
against  which  he  was  standing.    The 
adjutant  understood  him  immediately. 
He  let  go  the  end  of  the  chain ;  For- 
tunato  felt  himself  sole  possessor  of 
the  watch.     He  jumped  up  with  the 
agility    of    a    deer,    and    moved    ten 
paces  away  from  the  stack,  which  the 
voltigcurs  at  once  began  to  overturn. 

77.  It  was  not  long  before  they  saw 
the  hay  move,  and  a  bleeding  man, 
poniard    in    hand,    came    forth.    But 
when  he  tried  to  rise  to  his  feet,  his 
stiffening   wound    would   not   permit 
him   to   stand.    He   fell   down.    The 


A    typical    Latin    protest. 


A  key  to  the  plot. 


MAIN   CRISIS. 


CRISIS  RESOLVED  AND  DoWN- 
WARD  ACTION  BEGINS. 
HENCEFORWARD  WE  SEE 
THE  RESULTS  OF  CRISIS, 

LEADING     TO     THE     CLIMAX. 


Still    Sly. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND   ADVENTURE 


21 


adjutant  threw  himself  upon  him  and 
snatched  away  his  stiletto.  Speedily, 
he  was  securely  bound,  in  spite  of  his 
resistance. 

78.  Gianetto,    laid    on    the    ground 
and    tied    like    a    bundle    of    fagots, 
turned   his    head    toward    Fortunato, 
who  had  drawn  nearer. 

79.  "  Son    of  — ,"    he    said    to    him 
with  more  contempt  than  anger. 

80.  The  boy  threw  to  him  the  sil- 
ver-piece that  he  had  received  from 
him,    feeling    conscious    that    he    no 
longer    merited    it;    but    the    outlaw 
seemed  not  to  notice  this  action.     He 
said  to   the  adjutant  in   a  perfectly 
cool  voice : 

81.  "  My  dear  Gamba,  I  am  not  able 
to  walk;  you  will  be  obliged  to  carry 
me  to  the  town." 

82.  "  You  could  run  as  fast  as  a  kid 
just  now,"  retorted  his  cruel  captor. 
"  But  be  easy,  I  am  so  glad  to  have 
caught  you  that  I  could  carry  you  for 
a  league  on  my  own  back  without  be- 
ing tired.    All  the  same,  my  friend, 
we  are  going  to  make  a  litter  for  you 
out  of  some  branches  and  your  cloak, 
and  at  the  farm  at  Crespoli  we  shall 
find  some  horses." 

83.  "  Good !  "     said    the    prisoner. 
"You    had   better   also   put   a   little 
straw  on  your  litter  that  I  may  travel 
more  easily." 

84.  While  the  voltigeurs  were  occu- 
pied, some  making  a  sort  of  stretcher 
out  of  chestnut  boughs,  and  others 
dressing    Gianetto's    wound,     Mateo 
Falcone  and   his   wife   suddenly   ap- 


FIRST  CONTRIBUTORY  INCI- 
DENT. (A  contributory 
incident  might  be  changed 
or  even  omitted  without 
vitally  changing  the 
plot). 

Tardy  attempt  to  appear 
sincere. 

His  contempt  is  all  for 
Fortunato. 

SECOND  CONTRIBUTORY  INCI- 
DENT. 


Character  revelation. 
Let-down  in  tension. 


NEW    AND     RESULTANT     CRISI*' 

FOURTH  PLOT  INCIDENT. 


22 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


peared  in  a  bend  of  the  path  which 
led  from  the  maquis.  The  wife  ad- 
vanced, bending  laboriously  under  an 
enormous  bag  of  chestnuts,  while  her 
husband  came  up  jauntily,  carrying  in 
his  hand  only  a  gun,  while  another 
was  slung  over  his  shoulder,  for  it  is 
unworthy  of  a  man  to  carry  any  other 
burden  than  his  weapons. 

85.  At  sight  of  the  soldiers,  Mateo's 
first  thought  was  that  they  had  come 
to  arrest  him.    But  why  that  idea? 
Had   he  any  quarrel  with  the  law? 
No.    He  bore  a  good  reputation.    He 
was,    as    they   say,   particularly    well 
thought  of;  but  he  was  a  Corsican,  a 
mountaineer,  and  there  are  but  few 
Corsican   mountaineers   who,   if  they 
scrutinize  their  memories  well,  cannot 
find  some  pecadillo  —  some  gunshot, 
some  dagger  thrust,  or  some  similar 
bagatelle.    Mateo,    more   than   most, 
had   a   clear   conscience,    for   it   was 
fully  ten  years  since  he  had  pointed 
his  gun  against  a  man;  but  all  the 
same    he    was   prudent,    and    he   put 
himself  in  position  to  make  a  good 
defense,  if  need  be. 

86.  "Wife,"    said   he   to   Giuseppa, 
"  put  down  your  sack  and  keep  your- 
self in  readiness." 

87.  She  obeyed  on  the  instant.    He 
gave  her  the  gun  that  was  slung  over 
his  shoulder,  and  which  would  likely 
cause  him  inconvenience.    He  cocked 
the  one  he  had  in  his  hand  and  ad- 
vanced    slowly    toward     the    house, 
skirting  the  trees  which  bordered  the 
path,  and  ready  at  the  least  hostile 


Contrast    to    tragic    spirit    of 
the  story. 


Local  color. 


Bagatelle  "      discloses 
Corsican  attitude. 


the 


To    reload    his    weapons,    as 
appears  in  If  87. 


Suspense. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND  ADVENTURE 


Local    color. 


Development    of    fourth    in- 
cident. 


Key. 


demonstration  to  throw  himself  be- 
hind the  largest  trunk,  whence  he 
could  fire  from  cover.  His  wife 
walked  close  behind  him,  holding  his 
spare  gun  and  his  cartridge  box.  The 
duty  of  a  good  housewife,  in  case  of 
conflict,  is  to  reload  her  husband's 
weapons. 

88.  On  the  other  side,  the  adjutant 
was  very  uneasy  at  sight  of  Mateo 
advancing  thus  upon  them  with  meas- 
ured steps,  his  gun  forward  and  his 
finger  on  the  trigger. 

89.  "  If  it  should  chance,"  thought 
he,  "  that  Gianetto  is  related  to  Ma- 
teo, or  that  he  is  his  friend,  and  he 
intends  to  protect  him,  the  bullets  of 
his  two  guns  will  come  to  two  of  us 
as  sure  as  a  letter  to  the  post,  and  if 
he  should  aim  at  me,  good-by  to  our 
kinship !  " 

90.  In  this  perplexity,  he  put  on  a 
courageous  front  and  went  forward 
alone  toward  Mateo  to  tell  him  of  the 
matter,  while  greeting  him  like  an  old 
acquaintance ;  but  the  brief  space  that 
separated  him  from  Mateo  seemed  to 
him  terribly  long. 

91.  "  Hello  !    Ah  !  my  old  comrade," 
he  called  out.     "  How  are  you,  old 
fellow?    It's  I,  Gamba,  your  cousin." 

92.  Mateo,  without  replying  a  word, 
stopped,    and    while    the    other    was 
speaking  he  imperceptibly  raised  the 
muzzle  of  his  rifle  in  such  a  manner 
that  it  was  pointing  heavenward  by 

the  time  the  adjutant  came  up  to  him.      Resolution  of  suspense. 

93.  "  Good  day,  brother,"  6  said  the 

6  AUTHOR'S  NOTE. —  Buon  giorno,  fratello  —  the  ordinary  salutation  of  the 
Corsicans. 


A   fight    would   ensue. 


Note  force  of  "  alone." 


Note    constraint. 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


adjutant,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  It's 
a  very  long  time  since  I've  seen 
you." 

04.  "  Good  day,  brother." 

95.  "I  just  came  in,  while  passing, 
to   say  'good   day'   to  you   and   my 
cousin   Pepa.    We  have  had  a  long 
journey  to-day;  but  we  must  not  com- 
plain of  fatigue,  for  we  have  taken  a 
famous    prize.     We    have    just    got 
hold  of  Gianetto  Sanpiero." 

96.  "  God   be   praised !  "   exclaimed 
Giuseppa.     "  He    stole    one    of    our 
milch  goats  last  week." 

97.  These  words  rejoiced  Gamba. 

98.  "  Poor     devil ! "     said     Mateo. 
"  He  was  hungry." 

99.  "The   fellow   defended  himself 
like    a   lion,"    pursued    the   adjutant, 
slightly    mortified.    "  He    killed    one 
of  the  men,   and,   not  content   with 
that,    he    broke    Corporal    Chardon's 
arm ;  but  that  is  not  such  a  great  dis- 
aster, for  he  is  nothing  but  a  French- 
man.  .   .   .   Then   he   hid   himself   so 
cleverly    that    the    devil    would    not 
have  been  able  to  find  him.    With- 
out   my    little    cousin    Fortunato,    I 
should  never  have  discovered  him." 

100.  "  Fortunato !  "  cried  Mateo. 

101.  "  Fortunato !  "    repeated    Giu- 
seppa. 

102.  "  Yes,    Gianetto    was    hidden 
way  down  in  your  haystack;  but  my 
little    cousin    showed    me    his    trick. 
So  I  will  speak  of  him  to  his  uncle 
the  corporal,  that  he  may  send  him 
a  fine  present  for  his  trouble.    And 
his  name   and  yours  will  be  in  the 


Diminutive  for   Giuseppa. 


There  is  something  manlike 
in  most  of  Merimee's  fe- 
male characters. 


Character  contrast. 


New      crisis. 

FOR    CLIMAX. 


PREPARATION 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE 


report  which   I   shall  send  to  Mon- 
sieur I'avocat  general." 

103.  "  Malediction  !  "     said     Mateo 
under  his  breath. 

104.  They    had    now    rejoined    the 
detachment.     Gianetto     was     already 
laid  on  the  litter  and  they  were  ready 
to  leave.    When  he  saw  Mateo  in  the 
company    of    Gamba,    he    smiled    a 
strange  smile;  then,  turning  himself 
toward"  the    door    of   the    house,    he 
spat  on  the  threshold  as  he  cried  out : 

105.  "  House  of  a  traitor !  " 

106.  No  one  but  a  man  who  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  die  would  have 
dared  to  utter  the  word  "  traitor  "  as 
applying  to  Falcone.     One  good  stroke 
of  the  dagger,  which  would  not  need 
to  be  repeated,  would  have  immedi- 
ately  repaid   the   insult.    But  Mateo 
made  no  other  gesture  than  that  of 
putting  his  hand  to  his  head  like  a 
dazed  man. 

107.  Fortunato  had  gone  into  the 
house   upon   seeing  his   father  come 
up.    He    reappeared    shortly    with    a 
jug  of  milk,  which  he  offered  with 
downcast    eyes    to    Gianetto.     "  Keep 
away  from  me !  "  cried  the  outlaw  in 

a  voice  of  thunder.  \ 

108.  Then   turning   to   one   of   the    . 
voltigeurs, 

109.  "  Comrade,  give  me  a  drink  of 
water,"  he  said. 

no.  The  soldier  placed  the  gourd 
in  his  hands,  and  the  bandit  drank 
the  water  given  him  by  a  man  with 
whom  he  had  just  exchanged  gun- 
shots. He  then  asked  that  they 


Misunderstanding      adds     to 
complication. 


Key    to    plot.     FIFTH     PLOT 
INCIDENT. 


THIRD     CONTRIBUTORY    INCI- 
DENT. 


Is  this  repentance,  fear,  hy- 
pocrisy, or  an  attempt  to 
placate  his  father? 


Delineation      of      mood      by 
suggestion. 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


would  tie  his  hands  across  his  breast 
instead  of  having  them  behind  his 
back. 

in.  "I   prefer,"   he   said,   "to   lie 
down  at  my  ease." 

112.  When  they  had  adjusted  them 
to  his  satisfaction,  the  adjutant  gave 
the  signal  to  start,  said  adieu  to  Ma- 
teo  —  who  answered  never  a  word  — 
and  went  down  at  a  quick  pace  to- 
ward the  plain. 

113.  Some  ten  minutes  passed  be- 
fore Mateo  opened  his  mouth.    The 
child  looked  with  an  uneasy  eye  first 
at  his  mother,  then  at  his  father,  who, 
leaning   on   his   gun,   was   gazing   at 
him    with    a    gaze    of    concentrated 
wrath. 

114.  "You  begin  well,"  said  Mateo 
at  last,  in  a  voice  calm  but  terrifying 
to  those  who  knew  the  man. 

115.  "  Father!  "  exclaimed  the  child 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  drawing  near 
as  if  to  fall  upon  his  knees. 

116.  But  Mateo  only  cried  out: 

117.  "Away  from  me!  " 

118.  The  child  stopped  and  began 
to    sob,    standing    motionless    a    few 
steps  from  his  father. 

119.  Giuseppa  came  near.     She  had 
just  perceived  the  chain  of  the  watch 
dangling     about     from     Fortunato's 
blouse. 

120.  "  Who  gave  you  that  watch  ?  " 
she  asked  him  severely. 

121.  "My  cousin  the  adjutant." 

122.  Falcone  seized  the  watch,  and, 
throwing  it  violently  against  a  stone, 
broke  it  into  a  thousand  oieces. 


FOURTH  CONTRIBUTORY  INCI- 
DENT. 


Suspense. 


PREPARATION   FOR   CLIMAX. 
SIXTH    AND   FINAL   PLOT   IN- 


Contrast  with  fl  114. 

Note       the       sly       use       of 
"  cousin." 

FIFTH      CONTRIBUTORY      IN- 
CIDENT. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND  ADVENTURE 


123.  "  Woman,"  he  said,  "  this  child 
—  is  he  mine?  " 

124.  Giuseppa's       brown       cheeks 
flamed  brick-red. 

125.  "  What  are  you  saying,  Mateo? 
Do    you    know    to    whom    you    are 
speaking?" 

126.  "  Well,  this  child  is  the  first  of 
his  race  who  has  committed  a  trea- 
son." 

127.  Fortunato's  sobs  and  hiccoughs 
redoubled,  and  Falcone  kept  his  lynx- 
eyes    always    fixed    upon    him.    At 
length  he  struck  the  ground  with  the 
butt   of   his    gun;    then   he   flung   it 
across   his   shoulder   and,  calling  to 
Fortunato  to  follow  him,  retook  the 
way     to     the     maquis.    The     child 
obeyed. 

128.  Giuseppa  ran  after  Mateo,  and 
seized  him  by  the  arm. 

129.  "  He  is  your  son,"  she  said  to 
him  in  a  trembling  voice,  fixing  her 
black  eyes  on  those  of  her  husband, 
as  though  to  read  what  was  passing 
through  his  mind. 

130.  "  Let  me  go,"  replied  Mateo : 
"  I  am  his  father." 

131.  Giuseppa    embraced    her    son, 
and  went  back  crying  into  the  hut. 
She  threw  herself  on  her  knees  be- 
fore   an   image   of   the   Virgin,    and 
prayed  with  fervor. 

132.  Meanwhile,        Falcone       had 
walked     about     two-hundred     yards 
along  the  path,  and  stopped  at  a  little 
ravine,     which     he     descended.    He 
sounded  the  earth  with  the  butt  of 
his  gun  and  found  it  soft  and  easy 


Key. 


Decision,      and      foundation 
for   final   crisis. 


FULL  RESULTANT  CRISIS. 


Note  the  double  meaning. 


28 


STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 


to    dig.    The    spot    seemed    suitable 
for  his  design. 

133.  "  Fortunate,    go   near   to   that 
large  rock." 

134.  The  boy  did  as  he  was  com- 
manded, then  he  knelt  down. 

135.  "  Say  your  prayers." 

136.  "  Father,   Father,   do   not  kill 
me!" 

137.  "  Say  your  prayers !  "  repeated 
Mateo  in  a  terrible  voice. 

138.  The  child,  all  stammering  and 
sobbing,  repeated  the  Pater  and  the 
Credo.    The  father,  in  a  firm  voice 
responded  Amen  at  the  close  of  each 
prayer. 

139.  "Are    those    all    the    prayers 
that  you  know  ?  " 

140.  "  I  also  know  the  Ave  Maria, 
and  the  Litany  that  my  aunt  taught 
me,  Father." 

141.  "  It  is  rather  long,  but  it  does- 
n't matter." 

142.  The  child  achieved  the  Litany 
in  a  faint  voice. 

143.  "  Have  you  finished  ?  " 

144.  "  Oh,   Father,   Father,   mercy ! 
Pardon    me!    I    will    never    do    it 
again !     I  will  beg  my  cousin  the  cor- 
poral with  all  my  might  for  mercy 
for  Gianetto !  " 

145.  He  went  on  speaking;  Mateo 
loaded  his  rifle  and  took  aim  as  he 
said: 

146.  "  May  God  forgive  you !  " 

147.  The  boy  made  a  desperate  ef- 
fort to  get  up  and  clasp  his  father's 
knees,  but  he  had  not  time.     Mateo 
fired,  and  Fortunate  fell  dead. 


Forecast. 


Suspense. 


Our      Father.      etc.," 
believe    in    God,     etc." 


Hail     Mary,     etc. 
turgical     prayer. 


A     li- 


Note force  of  "  achieved." 


Contrast     with     his      former 
vicious   "  coolness." 


FULL   CLIMAX   AND 

MENT. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  2Q 

148.  Without     throwing     a     single       Note    force    of    "throwing." 
glance  at  the  body,  Mateo  returned  to 

his  house  to  fetch  a  spade  with  which 
to  bury  his  son.  He  had  taken  but  a 
few  steps  when  he  met  Giuseppa, 
who  had  run  out,  alarmed  by  the 
sound  of  the  firing. 

149.  "What  have  you  done?" 

150.  "Justice!  " 

151.  "Where  is  he?" 

152.  "  In  the  ravine ;  I  am  going  to       SIXTH    CONTRIBUTORY    INCI- 
bury   him.     He    died   a    Christian;    I          DENT- 

shall  have  a  mass  sung  for  him.    Let      Swift  conclusion. 
some  one  tell  my  son-in-law  Tiodoro       Character  revelation. 
Bianchi  to  come  and  live  with  us." 


STEVENSON  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

Robert  Lewis  Balfour  Stevenson,  as  he  was  baptized, 
was  born  November  13,  1850,  at  Edinburgh,  Scotland,  of 
Scotch  parents.  He  entered  Edinburgh  University  when 
he  was  seventeen,  intending  to  learn  his  father's  profes- 
sion, civil  engineering  —  though  he  had  always  longed  to 
be  a  writer,  having  dictated  books  at  the  precocious  ages 
of  six,  seven,  and  nine.  At  twenty-one  he  decided  to 
study  law,  and  four  years  later  passed  the  bar  examina- 
tion in  his  native  city.  In  1880  he  married  Mrs.  Os- 
bourne,  with  whose  son,  Lloyd,  he  collaborated  in  the 
writing  of  several  stones.  Stevenson's  health,  which  was 
never  robust,  sent  him  on  many  journeys  in  search  of 
strength  —  to  the  European  continent,  several  times  to 
the  United  States,  and  once  on  a  two  years'  voyage  to  the 
South  Seas.  In  1890  he  finally  settled  in  Samoa,  where 


3O  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

he  died  at  his  home,  Vailima,  December  3,   1894.     He 
was  buried  on  the  nearby  summit  of  Mount  Vaea. 

Stevenson  was  a  brilliant  novelist,  essayist,  poet,  and 
short-story  writer.  Treasure  Island,  Kidnapped,  The 
Master  of  Ballantrae,  and  Weir  of  Hermiston —  the  last 
of  which  he  left  unfinished  —  are  his  best  novels.  His 
journeys  were  chronicled  by  such  delightful  travel- 
sketches  as  An  Inland  Voyage,  Travels  With  a  Donkey, 
and  The  Silverado  Squatters.  A  Child's  Garden  of 
Verse  contains  his  best  poems.  His  most  noteworthy 
essays  are  found  in  Memories  and  Portraits,  and  Familiar 
Studies  of  Men  and  Books.  Most  famous  among  his 
short-stories  are  "  The  Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and 
Mr.  Hyde"  (a  novelette  in  length),  "The  Pavilion  on 
the  Links,"  "  Thrawn  Janet,"  "  Will  o'  the  Mill,"  "  The 
Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door,"  "  The  Merry  Men,"  "  Mark- 
heim,"  published  first  in  Unwin's  Annual,  London,  1885, 
and  given  in  this  volume  in  full,  and  "  A  Lodging  for  the 
Night,"  which  follows  entire.  It  was  first  published  in 
The  Temple  Bar  magazine,  October,  1877. 

Stevenson  was  a  supreme  craftsman.  No  writer  of 
the  short-story  in  English,  except  Edgar  Allan  Poe, 
was  so  conscious  of  his  art  and  so  gifted  to  create  up  to 
the  measure  of  his  orderly  knowledge.  In  criticism  of 
the  story-teller's  art,  Poe  was  the  greater  originator, 
Stevenson  the  more  brilliant  generalizer;  Poe  was  the 
deeper,  Stevenson  the  broader ;  Poe's  opinions  as  to  form 
grew  largely  out  of  his  own  consciousness,  and  shaped 
his  practices  —  they  were  arrived  at  deductively :  Steven- 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND   ADVENTURE  3! 

son's  standards  grew  as  his  creations  shaped  themselves, 
and  were  measurably  molded  by  his  own  writings  — 
they  were  examples  of  inductive  reasoning.  Thus  Stev- 
enson was  doubly  equipped  to  produce  incomparably  the 
greatest  group  of  short-stories  ever  written  by  a  Briton 
before  the  days  of  Kipling,  arid  some  sound  critics  will 
dispute  even  this  reservation.  In  charm,  in  dash  of  style, 
in  a  sense  of  form,  in  pure  romantic  spirit,  and  in  pene- 
trating human  interest,  Stevenson  ranks  among  the  ten 
greatest  short-story-tellers  of  his  era. 

I  wonder  if  any  one  had  ever  more  energy  upon  so  little 
strength  ?  —  R.  L.  STEVENSON,  Vailima  Letters. 

In  the  highest  achievements  of  the  art  of  words,  the  dramatic 
and  the  pictorial,  the  moral  and  romantic  interest,  rise  and  fall 
together  by  a  common  and  organic  law.  Situation  is  animated 
with  passion,  passion  clothed  upon  with  situation.  Neither  exists 
for  itself,  but  each  inheres  indissolubly  with  the  other.  This  is 
high  art;  and  not  only  the  highest  art  possible  in  words,  but  the 
highest  art  of  all,  since  it  combines  the  greatest  mass  and 
diversity  of  the  elements  of  truth  and  pleasure.  Such  are  epics, 
and  the  few  prose  tales  that  have  the  epic  weight. —  R.  L. 
STEVENSON,  A  Gossip  on  Romance. 

The  stories  of  Stevenson  exhibit  a  double  union,  as  admirable 
as  it  is  rare.  (They  exhibit  the  union  of  splendid  material  with 
the  most  delicate  skill  in  language ;  and  they  exhibit  the  union  of 
thrilling  events  with  a  remarkable  power  of  psychological 
analysis.— WILLIAM  LYON  PHELPS,  Essays  on  Modern  Novelists. 

Mr.  Stevenson  enjoys  the  reputation  of  being  the  modern  rep- 
resentative of  the  romantic  school  of  fiction.  There  are  others 
of  high  repute,  for  romanticism  is  now  the  vogue,  but  there  is 
hardly  any  other  whose  name  we  would  care  to  link  with  that 
of  Walter  Scott. —  WILLIAM  H.  SHERAN,  Handbook  of  Literary 
Criticism. 


32  STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 

Perhaps  the  first  quality  in  Mr.  Stevenson's  works,  now  so 
many  and  so  various,  which  strikes  a  reader,  is  the  buoyancy,  the 
survival  of  the  child  in  him.  He  has  told  the  world  often,  in 
prose  and  verse,  how  vivid  are  his  memories  of  his  own  infancy. 
.  .  .  The  peculiarity  of  Mr.  Stevenson  is  not  only  to  have  been 
a  fantastic  child,  and  to  retain,  in  maturity,  that  fantasy  ripened 
into  imagination:  he  has  also  kept  up  the  habit  of  dramatising 
everything,  of  playing,  half  consciously,  many  parts,  of  making 
the  world  "an  unsubstantial  fairy  place."  ...  It  is  the  eternal 
child 'that  drives  him  to  seek  adventures  and  to  sojourn  among 
beach-combers  and  savages. —  ANDREW  LANG,  Essays  in  Little. 

It  has  been  stated  that  the  finer  qualities  of  Stevenson  are 
called  out  by  the  psychological  romance  on  native  soil.  He  did 
some  brilliant  and  engaging  work  of  foreign  setting  and  motive. 
.  .  .  Judged  as  art,  "The  Bottle  Imp"  and  "The  Beach  of 
Falesa "  are  among  the  triumphs  of  ethnic  interpretation, ,  let 
alone  their  more  external  charms  of  story.  And  another  matter- 
piece  of  foreign  setting,  "A  Lodging  for  the  Night,"  is  further 
proof  of  Stevenson's  ability  to  use  other  than  Scotch  motives  for 
the  materials  of  his  art.  .  .  .  Few  novelists  of  any  race  have 
beaten  this  wandering  Scot  in  the  power  of  (representing  char- 
acter and  envisaging  it,  and  there  can  hardly  be  successful 
characterization  without  this  allied  power  of  creating  atmosphere. 
—  RICHARD  BURTON,  Masters  of  the  English  Novel. 

Not  until  1877,  and  Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  first  pub- 
lished narrative,  does  any  Englishman  of  real  caliber  show  both 
desire  and  ability  to  do  something  new  with  the  short  story_._ 
This  narrative  was  "  A  Lodging  for  the  Night,"  published  in 
Temple  Bar  for  October.  ...  "A  Lodging  for  the  Night"  is  as 
clearly  and  consciously  an  impressionistic  short  story  as  George 
Meredith's  contemporary  novelettes  are  not  of  that  category; 
the  two  stories  which  followed  ("Will  o'  the  Mill"  and  "The 
Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door")  would  assure  the  most  timid  critic 
of  our  generation  that  here  was  a  master  in  this  department  of 
fiction.  .  .  .  There  is  "  The  Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 
Hyde,"  that  short  story  thrown  over  into  the  form  of  a  detective 
romance.  ...  Or  there  is  "  Markheim,"  a  story  less  powerful  in 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  33 

execution,  but  more  excellent  in  workmanship,  and  an  almost 
ideal  example  of  the  impressionistic  short  story.  Flaubert  might 
have  written  the  description  of  the  curiosity  shop  as  the  mur- 
derer saw  it,  with  its  accusing  clock-voices,  its  wavering  shadows, 
from  the  inner  door  "a  long  slit  of  daylight  like  a  pointing 
finger."  And  Flaubert  would  have  praised  the  skilful  gradation 
of  incident  and  description,  whereby  conscience  gains"  and  gains 
in  the  struggle  for  Markheim's  mind.  But  Hawthorne  would 
have  been  prouder  still  of  the  plot  —  a  weak  man  with  a  remnant 
of  high  ideals  suddenly  realizing  that  his  curve  is  plotted  and 
can  lead  him  only  downwards.  .  .  .  How  like  to  Hawthorne's 
usual  way  is  Stevenson's  determination  to  make,  at  all  costs,  a 
moral  issue  the  outcome  of  his  story!  .  .  .  "Will  o'  the  Mill" 
is  like  a  twice-told  tale  not  only  in  theme;  its  whole  effect  is 
Hawthornesque.  "A  Lodging  for  the  Night"  has  for  its  kernel 
a  question  of  ethics. —  H.  S.  CANBY,  The  Short  Story  in  English. 

FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON 
STEVENSON 

Mr.  Stevenson's  Methods  in  Fiction,  A.  Conan  Doyle 
(1890)  ;  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  An  Elegy,  Richard  Le 
Gallienne  (1895)  ;  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  Walter 
Raleigh  (1895)  ;  Vailima  Letters,  to  Sidney  Colvin 
(1895)  ;  Adventures  in  Criticism,  A.  T.  Quiller-Couch 
(1896);  Critical  Kit-Kats,  Edmund  W.  Gosse  (1896); 
Studies  in  Two  Literatures,  Arthur  Symons  (1897)  ; 
Life  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  f  Graham  Balfour 
(1901)  ;  Stevenson's  Attitude  to  Life,  J.  F.  Genung 
(1901)  ;  Memories  of  Vailima,  Isobel  Strong  and  Lloyd 
Osbourne  (1903)  ;  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  W.  R.  Nicoll 
and  G.  K.  Chesterton. 


34  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

FOR  ANALYSIS 
A  LODGING  FOR  THE  NIGHT 

BY  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

It  was  late  in  November,  1456. 
The  snow  fell  over  Paris  with  rigor- 
ous, relentless  persistence;  sometimes 
the  wind  made  a  sally  and  scattered 
it  in  flying  vortices;  sometimes  there 
was  a  lull,  and  flake  after  flake  de- 
scended out  of  the  black  night  air,  si- 
lent, circuitous,  interminable.  To  poor 
people,  looking  up  under  moist  eye- 
brows, it  seemed  a  wonder  where  it 
all  came  from.  Master  Francis  Vil- 
lon had  propounded  an  alternative 
that  afternoon,  at  a  tavern  window; 
was  it  only  Pagan  Jupiter  plucking 
geese  upon  Olympus?  or  were  the 
holy  angels  moulting?  He  was  only 
a  poor  master  of  arts,  he  went  on; 
and  as  the  question  somewhat 
touched  upon  divinity,  he  durst  not 
venture  to  conclude.  A  silly  old 
priest  from  Montargis,  who  was 
among  the  company,  treated  the 
young  rascal  to  a  bottle  of  wine  in 
honor  of  the  jest  and  grimaces  with 
which  it  was  accompanied,  and 
swore  on  his  own  white  beard  that  he 
had  been  just  such  another  irreverent 
dog  when  he  was  Villon's  age. 

2.  The  air  was  raw  and  pointed, 
but  not  far  below  freezing;  and  the 
flakes  were  large,  damp,  and  ad- 
hesive. The  whole  city  was  sheeted  up. 
An  army  might  have  marched  from 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND  ADVENTURE  35 

end  to  end  and  not  a  footfall  given 
the  alarm.  If  there  were  any  belated 
birds  in  heaven,  they  saw  the  island 
like  a  large  white  patch,  and  the 
bridges  like  slim  white  spars,  on  the 
black  ground  of  the  river.  High  up 
overhead  the  snow  settled  among  the 
tracery  of  the  cathedral  towers. 
Many  a  niche  was  drifted  full ;  many 
a  statue  wore  a  long  white  bonnet 
on  its  grotesque  or  sainted  head. 
The  gargoyles  had  been  transform- 
ed into  great  false  noses,  drooping 
toward  the  point.  The  crockets  were 
like  upright  pillows  swollen  on  one 
side.  In  the  intervals  of  the  wind, 
there  was  a  dull  sound  of  dripping 
about  the  precincts  of  the  church. 

3.  The  cemetery  of  St.  John  had 
taken    its    own    share    of    the    snow. 
All  the  graves  were  decently  cover- 
ed;    tall     white     housetops      stood 
around     in     grave     array;     worthy 
burghers  were  long  ago  in  bed,  be- 
nightcapped     like     their     domiciles; 
there  was  no  light  in  all  the  neigh- 
borhood   but    a    little    peep    from    a 
lamp    that    hung    swinging    in    the 
church   choir,   and   tossed  the   shad- 
ows to  and  fro  in  time  to  its  oscil- 
lations.   The  clock  was  hard  on  ten 
when  the  patrol  went  by  with  hal- 
berds   and    a    lantern,    beating    their 
hands;    and    they    saw    nothing   sus- 
picious   about    the    cemetery    of    St. 
John. 

4.  Yet    there    was    a    small    house, 
backed  up  against  the  cemetery  wall, 
which    was    still    awake,    and    awake 


36  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

to  evil  purpose,  in  that  snoring  dis- 
trict. There  was  not  much  to  betray 
it  from  without;  only  a  stream  of 
warm  vapor  from  the  chimney-top, 
a  patch  where  the  snow  melted  on  the 
roof,  and  a  few  half-obliterated  foot- 
prints at  the  door.  But  within,  be- 
hind the  shuttered  windows,  Master 
Francis  Villon,  the  pvoet,  and  some 
of  the  thievish  crew  with  whom  he 
consorted,  were  keeping  the  night 
alive  and  passing  round  the  bottle. 

5.  A   great   pile    of   living   embers 
diffused    a    strong   and    ruddy    glow 
from    the    arched    chimney.    Before 
this     straddled     Dom     Nicolas,     the 
Picardy  monk,  with  his  skirts  pick- 
ed up  and  his  fat  legs  bared  to  the 
comfortable      warmth.    His      dilated 
shadow  cut  the  room  in  half ;  and  the 
firelight  only  escaped  on  either  side 
of  his  broad  person,  and  in  a  little 
pool  between  his  outspread  feet.    His 
face  had  the  beery,  bruised  appear- 
ance   of   the   continual    drinker's;    it 
was  covered  with  a  network  of  con- 
gested veins,  purple  in  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances, but  now  pale  violet,  for 
even   with  his   back  to   the   fire  the 
cold  pinched  him  on  the  other  side. 
His  cowl  had  half  fallen  back,  and 
made  a  strange  excrescence  on  either 
side  of  his  bull  neck.     So  he  strad- 
dled, grumbling,  and  cut  the  room  in 
half  with  the  shadow  of  his  portly 
frame. 

6.  On   the   right,   Villon   and    Guy 
Tabary  were  huddled  together  over 
a  scrap  of  parchment;  Villon  mak- 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  37 

ing  a  ballad  which  he  was  to  call  the 
"Ballad  of  Roast  Fish,"  and  Tabary 
spluttering  admiration  at  his  shoul- 
der. The  poet  was  a  rag  of  a  man, 
dark,  little,  and  lean,  with  hollow 
cheeks  and  thin  black  locks.  He  car- 
ried his  four-and-twenty  years  with 
feverish  animation.  Greed  had  made 
folds  about  his  eyes,  evil  smiles  had 
puckered  his  mouth.  The  wolf  and 
pig  struggled  together  in  his  face. 
It  was  an  eloquent,  sharp,  ugly,  ea^th- 
ly  countenance.  His  hands  were 
small  and  prehensile,  with  fingers 
knotted  like  a  cord;  and  they  were 
continually  flickering  in  front  of  him 
in  violent  and  expressive  pantomime. 
As  for  Tabary,  a  broad,  complacent, 
admiring  imbecility  breathed  from 
his  squash  nose  and  slobbering  lips: 
he  had  become  a  thief,  just  as  he 
might  have  become  the  most  decent 
of  burgesses,  by  the  imperious  chance 
that  rules  the  lives  of  human  geese 
and  human  donkeys. 

7.  At  the  monk's  other  hand,  Mon- 
tigny  and  Thevenin  Pensete  played 
a  game  of  chance.  About  the  first 
there  clung  some  flavor  of  good  birth 
and  training,  as  about  a  fallen  angel ; 
something  long,  lithe,  and  courtly 
in  the  person ;  something  aquiline  and 
darkling  in  the  face.  Thevenin,  poor 
soul,  was  in  great  feather:  he  had 
done  a  good  stroke  of  knavery  that 
afternoon  in  the  Faubourg  St. 
Jacques,  and  all  night  he  had  been 
gaining  from  Montigny.  A  flat  smile 
illuminated  his  face;  his  bald  head 


38  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

shone  rosily  in  a  garland  of  red 
curls ;  his  little  protuberant  stomach 
shook  with  silent  chucklings  as  he 
swept  in  his  gains. 

8.  "  Doubles  or  quits  ?  "  said  The- 
venin. 

9.  Montigny  nodded  grimly. 

10.  "  Some  may  prefer  to  dine  in 
state,"  wrote  Villon,  "  On  bread  and 
cheese  on  silver  plate.    Or,  or  —  help 
me  out,  Guido !  " 

11.  Tabary   giggled. 

12.  "  Or  parsley  on  a  golden  dish," 
scribbled  the  poet. 

13.  The  wind  was  freshening  with- 
out; it  drove  the  snow  before  it,  and 
sometimes  raised  its  voice  in  a  vic- 
torious whoop,  and  made  sepulchral 
grumblings  in  the  chimney.    The  cold 
was    growing    sharper   as    the    night 
went  on.    Villon,  protruding  his  lips, 
imitated  the  gust  with  something  be- 
tween a  whistle  and  a  groan.    It  was 
an  eerie,  uncomfortable  talent  of  the 
poet's,  much  detested  by  the  Picardy 
monk. 

14.  "  Can't  you  hear  it  rattle  in  the 
gibbet?"  said  Villon.    "They  are  all 
dancing  the  devil's  jig  on  nothing,  up 
there.     You  may  dance,  my  gallants, 
you'll  be  none  the  warmer!     Whew! 
what  a  gust !     Down  went  somebody 
just  now!     A  medlar  the  fewer  on 
the  three-legged  medlar-tree !  —  I  say, 
Dom    Nicolas,   it'll   be   cold   to-night 
on  the  St.  Denis  Road  ?  "  he  asked. 

15.  Dom   Nicolas  winked  both  his 
big  eyes,  and  seemed  to  choke  upon 
his  Adam's  apple.    Montfaucon,  the 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND   ADVENTURE 

great  grisly  Paris  gibbet,  stood  hard 
by  the  St.  Denis  Road,  and  the  pleas- 
antry touched  him  on  the  raw.  As 
for  Tabary,  he  laughed  immoderately 
over  the  medlars ;  he  had  never  heard 
anything  more  light-hearted;  and  he 
held  his  sides  and  crowed.  Villon 
fetched  him  a  fillip  on  the  nose,  which 
turned  his  mirth  into  an  attack  of 
coughing. 

16.  "  Oh,  stop  that  row,"  said  Vil- 
lon, "  and  think  of  rhymes  to  '  fish.' " 

17.  "  Doubles  or  quits,"  said  Mon- 
tigny,  doggedly. 

18.  "With    all    my    heart,"    quoth 
Thevenin. 

19.  "  Is  there  any  more  in  that  bot- 
tle ?  "  asked  the  monk. 

20.  "  Open    another,"    said    Villon. 
"  How  do  you  ever  hope  to  fill  that 
big  hogshead,  your  body,  with  little 
things  like  bottles  ?    And  how  do  you 
expect  to  get  to  heaven  ?     How  many 
angels,  do  you  fancy,  can  be  spared 
to  carry  up  a  single  monk  from  Pic- 
ardy?     Or  do  you  think  yourself  an- 
other   Elias  —  and    they'll    send    the 
coach  for  you  ?  " 

21.  "Hominibus     impossible,"     re- 
plied the  monk,  as  he  filled  his  gtess. 

22.  Tabary  was  in  ecstasies. 

23.  Villon  filliped  his  nose  again. 

24.  "  Laugh    at   my   jokes,    if   you 
like,"  he  said. 

25.  "It  was  very  good,"  objected 
Tabary. 

26.  Villon    made    a    face    at    him. 
"  Think    of    rhymes    to    '  fish,' "    he 
said.     "  What   have  you   to   do   with 


40  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

Latin?  You'll  wish  you  knew  none 
of  it  at  the  great  assizes,  when  the 
devil  calls  for  Guido  Tabary,  clericus 
—  the  devil  with  the  humpback  and 
red-hot  finger-nails.  Talking  of  the 
devil,"  he  added,  in  a  whisper, 
"  look  at  Montigny !  " 

27.  All    three    peered    covertly    at 
the  gamester.     He   did   not  seem  to 
be    enjoying    his    luck.    His    mouth 
was    a   little  to   a  side;   one   nostril 
nearly  shut,  and  the  other  much  in- 
flated.    The   black   dog   was    on   his 
back,    as    people    say    in    terrifying 
nursery  metaphor;  and  he  breathed 
hard  under  the  grewsome  burden. 

28.  "  He  looks  as  if  he  could  knife 
him,"  whispered  Tabary,  with  round 
eyes. 

29.  The     monk     shuddered,     and 
turned  his  face  and  spread  his  open 
hands    to    the    red    embers.    It    was 
the    cold    that    thus    affected    Dom 
Nicolas,  and  not  any  excess  of  mor- 
al sensibility. 

30.  "  Come,    now,"    said    Villon  — 
"  about    this    ballad.    How    does    it 
run  so  far?  "     And  beating  time  with 
his  hand  he  read  it  aloud  to  Tabary. 

31.  They   were   interrupted   at  the 
fourth    rhyme   by   a   brief   and    fatal 
movement     among     the     gamesters. 
The  round  was  completed,  and  The- 
venin  was  just  opening  his  mouth  to 
claim    another    victory,    when    Mon- 
tigny leaped  up,  swift  as  an  adder, 
and  stabbed  him  to  the  heart.     The 
blow  took  effect  before  he  had  time 
to  move.    A  tremor  or  two  convulsed 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  4! 

his  frame;  his  hands  opened  and  shut, 
his  heels  rattled  on  the  floor ;  then 
his  head  rolled  backward  over  one 
shoulder  with  the  eyes  wide  open; 
and  Thevenin  Pensete's  spirit  had  re- 
turned to  Him  who  gave  it. 

32.  Everyone   sprung   to   his    feet; 
but   the    business    was    over   in    two 
twos.    The  four  living  fellows  look- 
ed at  each  other  in  rather  a  ghastly 
fashion;    the   dead   man   contemplat- 
ing a  corner  of  the  roof  with  a  sin- 
gular and  ugly  leer. 

33.  "  My  God !"  said  Tabary ;  and 
he  began  to  pray  in  Latin. 

34.  Villon  broke  out  into  hysterical 
laughter.    He  came  a  step   forward 
and  ducked  a  ridiculous  bow  at  The- 
venin,    and     laughed     still     louder. 
Then  he  sat  down  suddenly,  all  of  a 
heap,    upon    a    stool,    and    continued 
laughing     bitterly     as     though     he 
would   shake  himself  to  pieces. 

35.  Montigny    recovered    his    com- 
posure  first. 

36.  "  Let's  see  what  he  has  about 
him,"   he   remarked;    and   he  picked 
the  dead  man's  pockets  with  a  prac- 
ticed hand,   and   divided  the   money 
into  four  equal  portions  on  the  table. 
"  There's  for  you,"  he  said. 

37.  The   monk   received   his   share 
with    a    deep     sigh,     and    a    single 
stealthy  glance  at  the  dead  Thevenin, 
who  was  beginning  to  sink  himself 
and  topple  sideways  off  the  chair. 

38.  "  We're  all  in  for  it,"  cried  Vil- 
lon,  swallowing  his   mirth.    "  It's   a 
hanging  job  for  every  man  jack  of  us 


42  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

that's  here  —  not  to  speak  of  those 
who  aren't."  He  made  a  shocking 
gesture  in  the  air  with  his  raised 
right  hand,  and  put  out  his  tongue 
and  threw  his  head  on  one  side,  so 
as  to  counterfeit  the  appearance  of 
one  who  has  been  hanged.  Then  he 
pocketed  his  share  of  the  spoil,  and 
executed  a  shuffle  with  his  feet  as  if 
to  restore  the  circulation. 

39.  Tabary    was    the    last    to    help 
himself;    he    made    a    dash    at    the 
money,  and  retired  to  the  other  end 
of  the  apartment. 

40.  Montigny   stuck  Thevenin    up- 
right in  the  chair,  and  drew  out  a 
dagger,  which  was  followed  by  a  jet 
of  blood. 

41.  "  You    fellows    had    better    be 
moving,"  he  said,   as  he  wiped  the 
blade  on  his  victim's  doublet. 

42.  "  I    think    we    had,"    returned 
Villon,   with   a  great  gulp.    "Damn 
his   fat   head ! "   he   broke   out.    "  It 
sticks    in    my    throat    like    phlegm. 
What  right  has  a  man  to  have  red 
hair  when  he  is  dead  ?  "    And  he  fell 
all  of  a  heap  again  upon  the  stool, 
and  fairly  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

43.  Montigny    and    Dom     Nicolas 
laughed   aloud,    even   Tabary    feebly 
chiming  in. 

44.  "  Cry  baby,"  said  the  monk. 

45.  "  I  always  said  he  was  a  wom- 
an," added   Montigny,  with  a   sneer. 
"  Sit    up,    can't    you  ? "   he   went   on, 
giving  another  shake  to  the  murder- 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND  ADVENTURE  43 

ed     body.    "  Tread     out     that     fire, 
Nick !  " 

46.  But  Nick  was  better  employed; 
he  was  quietly  taking  Villon's  purse, 
as  the  poet  sat,  limp  and  trembling, 
on  the  stool  where  he  had  been  mak- 
ing a  ballad  not  three  minutes  before. 
Montigny    and    Tabary    dumbly    de- 
manded a  share  of  the  booty,  which 
the    monk   silently   promised    as    he 
passed  the  little  bag  into  the  bosom 
of  his  gown.    In  many  ways  an  ar- 
tistic nature  unfits  a  man  for  prac- 
tical existence. 

47.  No  sooner  had  the  theft  been 
accomplished  than  Villon  shook  him- 
self, jumped  to  his  feet,  and  began 
helping  to  scatter  and  extinguish  the 
embers.     Meanwhile  Montigny  open- 
ed the  door  and  cautiously  peered  in- 
to the  street.    The  coast  was  clear; 
there  was  no  meddlesome  patrol  in 
sight.     Still  it  was  judged  wiser  to 
slip  out  severally ;  and  as  Villon  was 
himself  in  a  hurry  to  escape  from  the 
neighborhood  of  the  dead  Thevenin, 
and  the  rest  were  in  a  still  greater 
hurry  to  get  rid  of  him  before  he 
should     discover    the    loss     of    his 
money,  he  was  the  first  by  general 
consent  to  issue  forth  into  the  street. 

48.  The  wind  had  triumphed  and 
swept    all   the    clouds    from    heaven. 
Only  a  few  vapors,  as  thin  as  moon- 
light, fleeted  rapidly  across  the  stars. 
It  was  bitter  cold ;  and  by  a  common 
optical  effect,  things  seemed   almost 
more   definite   than    in   the   broadest 
daylight.    The  sleeping  city  was  ab- 


44  STUDYING   THE  SHORT-STORY 

solutely  still ;  a  company  of  white 
hoods,  a  field  full  of  little  alps,  below 
the  twinkling  stars.  Villon  cursed 
his  fortune.  Would  it  were  still 
snowing!  Now,  wherever  he  went, 
he  left  an  indelible  trail  behind  him 
on  the  glittering  streets ;  wherever  he 
went  he  was  still  tethered  to  the 
house  by  the  cemetery  of  St.  John; 
wherever  he  went  he  must  weave, 
with  his  own  plodding  feet,  the  rope 
that  bound  him  to  the  crime  and 
would  bind  him  to  the  gallows.  The 
leer  of  the  dead  man  came  back  to 
him  with  a  new  significance.  He 
snapped  his  fingers  as  if  to  pluck  up 
his  own  spirits,  and  choosing  a  street 
at  random,  stepped  boldly  forward  in 
the  snow. 

49.  Two    things    preoccupied    him 
as  he  went;  the  aspect  of  the  gallows 
at  Montfaucon  in  this  bright,  windy 
phase   of   the   night's    existence,    for 
one;    and    for   another,   the   look   of 
the  dead  man  with  his  bald  head  and 
garland   of   red    curls.    Both   struck 
cold    upon   his   heart,   and   he   kept 
quickening  his   pace   as   if  he   could 
escape  from  unpleasant  thoughts  by 
mere    fleetness    of    foot.    Sometimes 
he    looked    back    over    his    shoulder 
with  a  sudden  nervous  jerk;  but  he 
was   the   only   moving   thing   in   the 
while  streets,  except  when  the  wind 
swooped  round  a  corner  and  threw 
up  the  snow,  which  was  beginning  to 
freeze,  in  spouts  of  glittering  dust. 

50.  Suddenly  he  saw,  a  long  way 
before    him,    a   black    clump    and    a 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  45 

couple  of  lanterns.  The  clump  was 
in  motion,  and  the  lanterns  swung  as 
though  carried  by  men  walking.  It 
was  a  patrol.  And  though  it  was 
merely  crossing  his  line  of  march,  he 
judged  it  wiser  to  get  out  of  eyeshot 
as  speedily  as  he  could.  He  was  not 
in  the  humor  tQ  be  challenged,  and 
he  was  conscious  of  making  a  very 
conspicuous  mark  upon  the  snow. 
Just  on  his  left  hand  there  stood  a 
great  hotel,  with  some  turrets  and  a 
large  porch  before  the  door;  it  was 
half-ruinous,  he  remembered,  and 
had  long  stood  empty;  and  so  he 
made  three  steps  of  it,  and  jumped 
into  the  shelter  of  the  porch.  It  was 
pretty  dark  inside,  after  the  glimmer 
of  the  snowy  streets,  and  he  was 
groping  forward  with  outspread 
hands,  when  he  stumbled  over  some 
substance  which  offered  an  inde- 
scribable mixture  of  resistances,  hard 
and  soft,  firm  and  loose.  His  heart 
gave  a  leap,  and  he  sprung  two  steps 
back  and  stared  dreadfully  at  the 
obstacle.  Then  he  gave  a  little  laugh 
of  relief.  It  was  only  a  woman,  and 
she  dead.  He  knelt  beside  her  to 
make  sure  upon  this  latter  point. 
She  was  freezing  cold,  and  rigid  like 
a  stick.  A  little  ragged  finery  flut- 
tered in  the  wind  about  her  hair,  and 
her  cheeks  had  been  heavily  rouged 
that  same  afternoon.  Her  pockets 
were  quite  empty ;  but  in  her  stock- 
ing, underneath  the  garter,  Villon 
found  two  of  the  small  coins  that 
went  by  the  name  of  whites.  It  was 


46  STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 

little  enough,  but  it  was  always  some- 
thing, and  the  poet  was  moved  with 
a  deep  sense  of  pathos  that  she 
should  have  died  before  she  had 
spent  her  money.  That  seemed  to 
him  a  dark  and  pitiful  mystery;  and 
he  looked  from  the  coins  in  his  hand 
to  the  dead  woman,  and  back  again 
to  the  coins,  shaking  his  head  over 
the  riddle  of  man's  life. 

51.  Henry    V.    of    England,    dying 
at  Vincennes  just  after  he  had  con- 
quered   France,   and  this   poor  jade 
cut  off  by  a  cold  draught  in  a  great 
man's  doorway,  before  she  had  time 
to   spend   her   couple   of   whites  —  it 
seemed  a  cruel  way  to  carry  on  the 
world.    Two  whites  would  have  tak- 
en  such  a  little  while  to   squander; 
and  yet  it  would  have  been  one  more 
good  taste  in  the  mouth,  one  more 
smack  of  the  lips,  before  the  devil  got 
the   soul,  and  the  body  was   left  to 
birds  and  vermin.    He  would  like  to 
use   all   his   tallow   before   the    light 
was  blown  out  and  the  lantern  bro- 
ken. 

52.  While     these     thoughts     were 
passing   through    his    mind,    he    was 
feeling,    half    mechanically,    for    his 
purse.     Suddenly    his    heart    stopped 
beating;  a  feeling  of  cold  scales  pass- 
ed up  the  back  of  his  legs,  and  a  cold 
blow  seemed  to  fall  upon  his  scalp. 
He    stood   petrified    for    a    moment; 
then  he  felt  again  with  one  feverish 
movement;   and   then  his   loss  burst 
upon   him,   and   he   was   covered   at 
once    with    perspiration.    To    spend- 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  47 

thrifts  money  is  so  living  and  actual 
—  it  is  such  a.  thin  veil  between  them 
and  their  pleasures!  There  is  only 
one  limit  to  their  fortune  —  that  of 
time;  and  a  spendthrift  with  only  a 
few  crowns  is  the  Emperor  of  Rome 
until  they  are  spent.  For  such  a 
person  to  lose  his  money  is  to  suffer 
the  most  shocking  reverse,  and  fall 
from  heaven  to  hell,  from  all  to  noth- 
ing, in  a  breath.  And  all  the  more 
if  he  has  put  his  head  in  the  halter 
for  it;  if  he  may  be  hanged  to-mor- 
row for  that  same  purse,  so  dearly 
earned,  so  foolishly  departed!  Vil- 
lon stood  and  cursed;  he  threw  the 
two  whites  into  the  street;  he  shook 
his  fist  at  heaven ;  he  stamped,  and 
was  not  horrified  to  find  himself 
trampling  the  poor  corpse.  Then  he 
began  rapidly  to  retrace  his  steps  to- 
ward the  house  beside  the  cemetery. 
He  had  forgotten  all  fear  of  the 
patrol,  which  was  long  gone  by  at 
any  rate,  and  had  no  idea  but  that 
of  his  lost  purse.  It  was  in  vain 
that  he  looked  right  and  left  upon 
the  snow;  nothing  was  to  be  seen. 
He  had  not  dropped  it  in  the  streets. 
Had  it  fallen  in  the  house?  He 
would  have  liked  dearly  to  go  in  and 
see;  but  the  idea  of  the  grisly  oc- 
cupant unmanned  him.  And  he  saw 
besides,  as  he  drew  near,  that  their 
efforts  to  put  out  the  fire  had  been 
unsuccessful;  on  the  contrary,  it  had 
broken  into  a  blaze,  and  a  change- 
ful light  played  in  the  chinks  of  door 
and  window,  and  revived  his  terror 


STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 


for    the    authorities    and    Paris    gib- 
bet. 

53.  He  returned  to  the  hotel  with 
the  porch,  and  groped  about  upon  the 
snow  for  the  money  he  had  thrown 
away  in  his  childish  passion.  But 
he  could  only  find  one  white;  the 
other  had  probably  struck  sideways 
and  sunk  deeply  in.  With  a  single 
white  in  his  pocket,  all  his  projects 
for  a  rousing  night  in  some  wild 
tavern  vanished  utterly  away.  And 
it  was  not  only  pleasure  that  fled 
laughing  from  his  grasp;  positive 
discomfort,  positive  pain,  attacked 
him  as  he  stood  ruefully  before  the 
porch.  His  perspiration  had  dried 
upon  him,  and  although  the  wind 
had  now  fallen,  a  binding  frost  was 
setting  in  stronger  with  every  hour, 
and  he  felt  benumbed  and  sick  at 
heart.  What  was  to  be  done?  Late 
as  was  the  hour,  improbable  as  was 
success,  he  would  try  the  house  of 
his  adopted  father,  the  chaplain  of 
St.  Benoit. 

54.  He  ran  there  all  the  way,  and 
knocked  timidly.     There  was  no  an- 
swer.    He  knocked  again  and  again, 
taking  heart  with  every  stroke  ;  and 
at   last   steps   were   heard  approach- 
ing  from   within.    A   barred   wicket 
fell   open   in  the   iron-studded   door, 
and  emitted  a  gush  of  yellow  light. 

55.  "  Hold    up    your    face    to    the 
wicket,"  said  the  chaplain,  from  with- 
in. 

56.  "  It's     only     me," 
Villon. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  49 

57.  "Oh,  it's  only  you,  is  it?"  re- 
turned the  chaplain;   and  he  cursed 
him   with    foul    unpriestly   oaths    for 
disturbing  him  at  such  an  hour,  and 
bade   him   be   off  to   hell,   where  he 
came  from. 

58.  "  My    hands    are    blue    to    the 
wrist,"  pleaded  Villon ;  "  my  feet  are 
dead  and  full  of  twinges;  my  nose 
aches   with   the   sharp   air;   the  cold 
lies  at  my  heart.     I  may  be  dead  be- 
fore morning.     Only  this  once,  fath- 
er, and  before  God,  I  will  never  ask 
again !  " 

59.  "  You    should   have    come   ear- 
lier,"    said     the     ecclesiastic    coolly. 
"  Young  men   require   a  lesson  now 
and  then."    He  shut  the  wicket  and 
retired  deliberately  into  the  interior 
of  the  house. 

60.  Villon  was  beside  himself;  he 
beat   upon   the   door  with  his   hands 
and  feet,  and  shouted  hoarsely  after 
the  chaplain. 

61.  "  Wormy  old    fox ! "   he   cried. 
"  If  I  had  my  hand  under  your  twist, 
I    would    send    you    flying   headlong 
into  the  bottomless  pit." 

62.  A    door    shut    in    the    interior, 
faintly  audible  to  the  poet  down  long 
passages.     He  passed  his  hand  over 
his  mouth  with  an  oath.    And  then 
the    humor    of    the    situation    struck 
him,  and  he  laughed  and  looked  light- 
ly up  to  heaven,  where  the  stars  seem- 
ed to  be  winking  over  his   discom- 
fiture. 

63.  What    was     to    be     done?     It 
looked  very  like  a  night  in  the  frosty 


50  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

streets.  The  idea  of  the  dead  woman 
popped  into  his  imagination,  and 
gave  him  a  hearty  fright;  what  had 
happened  to  her  in  the  early  night 
might  very  well  happen  to  him  be- 
fore morning.  And  he  so  young !  and 
with  such  immense  possibilities  of 
disorderly  amusement  before  him ! 
He  felt  quite  pathetic  over  the  notion 
of  his  own  fate,  as  if  it  had  been 
some  one  else's,  and  made  a  little 
imaginative  vignette  of  the  scene  in 
the  morning  when  they  should  find 
his  body. 

64.  He  passed  all  his  chances  un- 
der   review,    turning    the    white    be- 
tween his  thumb  and  forefinger.    Un- 
fortunately he  was  on  bad  terms  with 
some    old    friends    who    would    once 
have   taken   pity  on   him   in  such  a 
plight.    He  had  lampooned  them  in 
verses;   he  had   beaten   and   cheated 
them ;  and  yet  now,  when  he  was  in 
so   close   a  pinch,   he  thought   there 
was  at  least  one  who  might  perhaps 
relent.     It    was    a    chance.    It    was 
worth  trying  at  least,  and  he  would 
go  and  see. 

65.  On  the  way  two  little  accidents 
happened  to  him  which  colored   his 
musings  in  a  very  different  manner. 
For,  first  he  fell  in  with  the  track  of 
a  patrol,  and  walked  in  it  for  some 
hundred   yards,   although   it   lay   out 
of   his    direction.     And    this    spirited 
him  up;  at  least  he  had  confused  his 
trail;  for  he  was  still  possessed  with 
the  idea  of  people  tracking  him  all 
about  Paris  over  the  snow,  and  col- 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND  ADVENTURE  5! 

'aring  him  next  morning  before  he 
was  awake.  The  other  matter  affect- 
ed him  quite  differently.  He  passed 
a  street  corner,  where,  not  so  long 
before,  a  woman  and  her  child  had 
been  devoured  by  wolves.  This  was 
just  the  kind  of  weather,  he  reflect- 
ed, when  wolves  might  take  it  into 
their  heads  to  enter  Paris  again ;  and 
a  lone  man  in  these  deserted  streets 
would  run  the  chance  of  something 
worse  than  a  mere  scare.  He  stop- 
ped and  looked  upon  the  place  with 
an  unpleasant  interest  —  it  was  a 
center  where  several  lanes  intersect- 
ed each  other;  and  he  looked  down 
them  all,  one  after  another,  and  held 
his  breath  to  listen,  lest  he  should  de- 
tect some  galloping  black  things  on 
the  snow  or  hear  the  sound  of  howl- 
ing between  him  and  the  river.  He 
remembered  his  mother  telling  him 
the  story  and  pointing  out  the  spot, 
while  he  was  yet  a  child.  His  moth- 
er! If  he  only  knew  where  she  liv- 
ed, he  might  make  sure  at  least  of 
shelter.  He  determined  he  would  in- 
quire upon  the  morrow;  nay,  he 
would  go  and  see  her  too,  poor  old 
girl!  So  thinking,  he  arrived  at  his 
destination  —  his  last  hope  for  the 
night. 

66.  The  house  was  quite  dark,  like 
its  neighbors;  and  yet  after  a  few 
taps,  he  heard  a  movement  overhead, 
a  door  opening,  and  a  cautious  voice 
asking  who  was  there.  The  poet 
named  himself  in  a  loud  whisper,  and 
waited,  not  without  some  trepidation, 


52  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

the  result.  Nor  had  he  to  wait  long. 
A  window  was  suddenly  opened,  and 
a  pailful  of  slops  splashed  down  up- 
on the  doorstep.  Villon  had  not 
been  unprepared  for  something  of  the 
sort,  and  had  put  himself  as  much  in 
shelter  as  the  nature  of  the  porch 
admitted;  but  for  all  that,  he  was 
deplorably  drenched  below  the  waist. 
His  hose  began  to  freeze  almost  at 
once.  Death  from  cold  and  exposure 
stared  him  in  the  face ;  he  remember- 
ed he  was  of  phthisical  tendency,  and 
began  coughing  tentatively.  But 
the  gravity  of  the  danger  steadied  his 
nerves.  He  stopped  a  few  hundred 
yards  from  the  door  where  he  had 
been  so  rudely  used,  and  reflected 
with  his  nose.  He  could  only  see 
one  way  of  getting  a  lodging,  and 
that  was  to  take  it.  He  had  noticed 
a  house  not  far  away,  which  looked 
as  if  it  might  be  easily  broken  into, 
and  thither  he  betook  himself  prompt- 
ly, entertaining  himself  on  the  way 
with  the  idea  of  a  room  still  hot,  with 
a  table  still  loaded  with  the  remains 
of  supper,  where  he  might  pass  the 
rest  of  the  black  hours  and  whence 
he  should  issue,  on  the  morrow,  with 
an  armful  of  valuable  plate.  He  even 
considered  on  what  viands  and  what 
wines  he  should  prefer;  and  as  he 
was  calling  the  roll  of  his  favorite 
dainties,  roast  fish  presented  itself  to 
his  mind  with  an  odd  mixture  of 
amusement  and  horror. 

67.  "I  shall  never  finish  that  bal- 
lad," he  thought  to  himself ;  and  then, 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND  ADVENTURE  53 

with  another  shudder  at  the  recollec- 
tion, "  Oh,  damn  his  fat  head !  "  he 
repeated  fervently,  and  spat  upon  the 
snow. 

68.  The  house  in  question  looked 
dark   at   first    sight;    but    as    Villon 
made    a    preliminary    inspection    in 
search  of  the  handiest  point  of  attack, 
a  little   twinkle   of  light   caught  his 
eye  from  behind  a  curtained  window. 

69.  "  The      devil ! "      he      thought. 
"  People    awake !     Some    student    or 
some     saint,     confound     the     crew ! 
Can't  they  get  drunk  and  lie  in  bed 
snoring  like  their  neighbors!  What's 
the  good  of  curfew,  and  poor  devils 
of  bellringers  jumping  at  a  rope's  end 
in    bell-towers?    What's    the    use    of 
day,  if  people  sit  up  all  night!    The 
gripes  to  them !  "    He  grinned  as  he 
saw  where  his  logic  was  leading  him. 
"Every   man   to    his   business,    after 
all,"  added  he,  "  and  if  they're  awake, 
by  the  Lord,  I  may  come  by  a  supper 

honestly    for    once,    and    cheat    the  * 

devil." 

70.  He  went  boldly  to  the  door  and 
knocked  with  an  assured  hand.     On 
both     previous     occasions,     he     had 
knocked  timidly  and  with  some  dread 
of  attracting  notice;  but  now,  when 
he  had  just  discarded  the  thought  of 
a   burglarious   entry,   knocking   at   a 
door  seemed  a  mighty  simple  and  in- 
nocent proceeding.    The  sound  of  his 
blows  echoed  through  the  house  with 
thin,    phantasmal    reverberations,    as 
though   the  house  were   empty;   but 
the?-*  had  scarcely  died  away  before 


54 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


a  measured  tread  drew  near,  a  couple 
of  bolts  were  withdrawn,  and  one 
wing  was  opened  broadly,  as  though 
no  guile  or  fear  of  guile  were  known 
to  those  within.  A  tall  figure  of  a 
man,  muscular  and  spare,  but  a  little 
bent,  confronted  Villon.  The  head 
was  massive  in  bulk,  but  finely  sculp- 
tured;  the  nose  blunt  at  the  bottom, 
but  refining  upward  to  where  it  join- 
ed a  pair  of  strong  and  honest  eye- 
brows ;  the  mouth  and  eyes  surround- 
ed with  delicate  markings,  and  the 
whole  face  based  upon  a  thick  white 
beard,  boldly  and  squarely  trimmed. 
Seen  as  it  was  by  the  light  of  a  flick- 
ering hand-lamp,  it  looked,  perhaps, 
nobler  than  it  had  a  right  to  do ;  but 
it  was  a  fine  face,  honorable  rather 
than  intelligent,  strong,  simple,  and 
righteous. 

71.  "  You  knock  late,  sir,"  said  the 
old  man,  in  resonant,  courteous  tones. 

72.  Villon  cringed,  and  brought  up 
many  servile  words  of  apology;  at  a 
crisis  of  this  sort,  the  beggar  was  up- 
permost   in    him,    and    the    man    of 
genius  hid  his  head  with'  confusion. 

73.  "  You   are   cold,"   repeated   the 
old  man,  "and  hungry?    Well,  step 
in."    And   he   ordered  him  into   the 
house  with  a  noble  enough  gesture. 

74.  "  Some  great  seigneur,"  thought 
Villon,  as  his  host,  setting  down  the 
lamp  on  the  flagged  pavement  of  the 
entry,  shot  the  bolts  once  more  into 
their  places. 

75.  "  You  will  pardon  me  if  I  go  in 
front,"  he  said,  when  this  was  done: 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  55 

and  he  preceded  the  poet  up-stairs 
into  a  large  apartment,  warmed  with 
a  pan  of  charcoal  and  lit  by  a  great 
lamp  hanging  from  the  roof.  It  was 
very  bare  of  furniture;  only  some 
gold  plate  on  a  sideboard ;  some 
folios ;  and  a  stand  of  armor  between 
the  windows.  Some  smart  tapestry 
hung  upon  the  walls,  representing  the 
crucifixion  of  our  Lord  in  one  piece, 
and  in  another  a  scene  of  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses  by  a  running 
stream.  Over  the  chimney  was  a 
shield  of  arms. 

76.  "  Will  you  seat  yourself,"  said 
the  old  man,  "  and  forgive  me  if  I 
leave  you?     I  am  alone  in  my  house 
to-night,  and  if  you  are  to  eat  I  must 
forage  for  you  myself." 

77.  No  sooner  was  his  host  gone 
than  Villon  leaped  from  the  chair  on 
which   he    had    just    seated    himself, 
and  began  examining  the  room,  with 
the  stealth  and  passion  of  a  cat.     He 
weighed  the  gold  flagons  in  his  hand, 
opened  all  the  folios,  and  investigat- 
ed the  arms  upon  the  shield,  and  the 
stuff  with  which  the  seats  were  lined. 
He  raised  the  window  curtains,  and 
saw  that  the  windows  were  set  with 
rich  stained  glass  in  figures,  so  far 
as  he  could   see,  of  martial  import. 
Then  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  drew  a  long  breath,  and,  retain- 
ing   it    with    puffed    cheeks,    looked 
round  and  round  him,  turning  on  his 
heels,  as  if  to  impress  every  feature 
of  the  apartment  on  his  memory. 

78.  "  Seven    pieces    of    plate,"    he 


56  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

said.  "If  there  had  been  ten,  I 
would  have  risked  it.  A  fine  house, 
and  a  fine  old  master,  so  help  me  all 
the  saints !  " 

79.  And  just  then,  hearing  the  old 
man's  tread  returning  along  the  cor- 
ridor, he  stole  back  to  his  chair,  and 
began  humbly  toasting  his  wet  legs 
before  the  charcoal  pan. 

80.  His  entertainer  had  a  plate  of 
meat  in  one  hand  and  a  jug  of  wine 
in  the  other.    He  sat  down  the  plate 
upon  the  table,  motioning  Villon  to 
draw  in  his  chair,  and,  going  to  the 
sideboard,  brought  back  two  goblets, 
which  he  filled. 

81.  "I  drink  your  better  fortune," 
he  said,  gravely  touching  Villon's  cup 
with  his  own. 

82.  "  To  our  better  acquaintance," 
said  the  poet,  growing  bold.    A  mere 
man  of  the  people  would  have  been 
awed    by    the    courtesy    of    the    old 
seigneur,  but  Villon  was  hardened  in 
that  matter;  he  had  made  mirth  for 
great   lords   before  now,   and   found 
them    as    black    rascals    as    himself. 
And   so   he   devoted  himself  to   the 
viands  with  a  ravenous  gusto,  while 
the  old  man,  leaning  backward,  watch- 
ed him  with  steady,  curious  eyes. 

83.  "  You     have     blood     on     your 
shoulder,  my  man,"  he  said. 

84.  Montigny    must    have    laid    his 
wet  right  hand  upon  him  as  he  left 
the  house.     He  cursed   Montigny  in 
his  heart. 

85.  "  It  was  none  of  my  shedding," 
fce  stammered. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE  57 

86.  "  I   had   not   supposed   so,"   re- 
turned his  host,  quietly.     "  A  brawl?  " 

87.  "  Well,  something  of  that  sort," 
Villon  admitted  with  a  quaver. 

88.  "Perhaps  a  fellow  murdered?" 

89.  "  Oh,  no,  not  murdered,"   said 
the  poet,  more   and  more  confused. 
"It  was  all  fair  play  —  murdered  by 
accident.     I  had  no  hand  in  it,  God 
strike  me  dead !  "  he  added,  fervent- 
ly. 

90.  "  One  rogue  the  fewer,  I  dare 
say,"    observed    the    master    of    the 
house. 

91.  "  You   may  dare  to   say  that," 
agreed  Villon,  infinitely  relieved.    "  As 
big  a  rogue  as  there  is  between  here 
and    Jerusalem.     He    turned    up    his 
toes  like  a  lamb.     But  it  was  a  nasty 
thing  to  look  at.     I  dare  say  you've 
seen    dead    men    in    your    time,    my 
lord  ?  "  he  added,  glancing  at  the  ar- 
mor. 

92.  "  Many,"  said  the  old  man.    "  I 
have  followed  the  wars,  as  you  imag- 
ine." 

93.  Villon  laid  down  his  knife  and 
fork,    which    he   had   just   taken    up 
again. 

94.  "  Were  any  of  them  bald  ?  "  he 
asked. 

95.  "  Oh,    yes,    and    with    hair    as 
white  as  mine." 

96.  "  I   don't  think  I   should  mind 
the    white    so    much,"    said    Villon. 
"  His  was  red."     And  he  had  a  re- 
turn of  his  shuddering  and  tendency 
to  laughter,  which  he  drowned  with 
a  great  draught  of  wine.    "  I'm  a  lit- 


58  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

tie  put  out  when  I  think  of  it,"  he 
went  on.  "  I  knew  him  —  damn  him  ! 
And  then  the  cold  gives  a  man  fan- 
cies —  or  the  fancies  give  a  man  cold, 
I  don't  know  which." 

97.  "  Have  you  any  money?  "  asked 
the  old  man. 

99.  "  I  have  one  white,"  returned 
the  poet,  laughing.  "  I  got  it  out  of 
a  dead  jade's  stocking  in  a  porch. 
She  was  as  dead  as  Caesar,  poor 
wench,  and  as  cold  as  a  church,  with 
bits  of  ribbon  sticking  in  her  hair. 
This  is  a  hard  world  in  winter  for 
wolves  and  wenches  and  poor  rogues 
like  me." 

99.  "  I,"    said    the    old   man,    "  am 
Enguerrand  de  la  Feuillee,  seigneur 
de     Brisetout,     bailly     du     Patatrac. 
Who  and  what  may  you  be  ?  " 

100.  Villon  rose  and  made  a  suita- 
ble reverence.    "  I  am  called  Francis 
Villon,"  he  said,  "  a  poor  master  of 
arts  in  this  university.    I  know  some 
Latin,  and  a  deal  of  vice.     I  can  make 
chansons,  ballads,  lais,  virelais,   and 
roundels  and  I  am  very  fond  of  wine. 
I  was  born  in  a  garret  and  I  shall 
not  improbably  die  upon  the  gallows. 
I  may  add,  my  lord,  that  from  this 
night  forward  I  am  your  lordship's 
very    obsequious     servant    to     com- 
mand." 

101.  "  No    servant    of   mine,"    said 
the  knight ;  "  my  guest  for  this  even- 
ing, and  no  more." 

102.  "A  very  grateful  guest,"  said 
Villon,    politely,    and    he    drank    in 
dumb  show  to  his  entertainer. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND   ADVENTURE  59 

103.  "  You  are  shrewd,"  began  the 
old  man,  tapping  his  forehead,  "very 
shrewd;  you  have  learning;  you  are 
a  clerk;   and  yet  you  take  a  small 
piece   of  money   off   a   dead   woman 
in   the   street.    Is   it   not   a  kind   of 
theft?" 

104.  "  It  is  a  kind  of  theft  much 
practiced  in  the  wars,  my  lord." 

105.  "  The   wars   are   the    field    of 
honor,"  returned  the  old  man,  proud- 
ly.    "  There  a  man  plays  his  life  upon 
the  cast ;  he  fights  in  the  name  of  his 
lord  the  king,  his  Lord  God,  and  all 
their   lordships   the  holy   saints   and 
angels." 

106.  "Put  it,"  said  Villon,  "that  1 
were  really  a  thief,  should  I  not  play 
my    life    also,    and    against    heavier 
odds?" 

107.  "  For  gain,  but  not  for  honor." 

108.  "  Gain  ?  "  repeated  Villon,  with 
a  shrug.    "  Gain !    The  poor  fellow 
wants  supper,  and  takes  it.    So  does 
the    soldier    in    a    campaign.    Why, 
what    are    all   these    requisitions    we 
hear  so  much  about?     If  they  are  not 
gain  to  those  who  take  them,  they  are 
loss  enough  to  the  others.    The  men- 
at-arms  drink  by  a  good  fire,  while 
the   burgher   bites   his   nails   to   buy 
them  wine  and  wood.    I  have  seen  a 
good    many    plowmen    swinging    on 
trees  about  the  country;  ay,  I  have 
seen  thirty  on  one  elm,  and  a  very 
poor  figure  they  made;  and  when  I 
asked  some  one  how  all  these  came 
to  be  hanged,  I  was  told  it  was  be- 
cause they  could  not  scrape  together 


6O  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

enough  crowns  to  satisfy  the  men-at- 
arms." 

109.  "  These  things  are  a  necessity 
of  war,  which  the  low-born  must  en- 
dure with  constancy.  It  is  true  that 
some  captains  drive  overhard;  there 
are  spirits  in  every  rank  not  easily 
moved  by  pity ;  and  indeed  many  fol- 
low arms  who  are  no  better  than 
brigands." 

no.  "  You  see,"  said  the  poet,  "you 
cannot  separate  the  soldier  from  the 
brigand;  and  what  is  a  thief  but  an 
isolated  brigand  with  circumspect 
manners  ?  I  steal  a  couple  of  mutton 
chops,  without  so  much  as  disturbing 
people's  sleep ;  the  farmer  grumbles  a 
bit,  but  sups  none  the  less  whole- 
somely on  what  remains.  You  come 
up  blowing  gloriously  on  a  trumpet, 
take  away  the  whole  sheep,  and  beat 
the  farmer  pitifully  into  the  bargain. 
I  have  no  trumpet;  I  am  only  Tom, 
Dick,  or  Harry;  I  am  a  rogue  and  a 
dog,  and  hanging's  too  good  for  me  — 
with  all  my  heart;  but  just  ask  the 
farmer  which  of  us  he  prefers,  just 
find  out  which  of  us  he  lies  awake  to 
curse  on  cold  nights." 

in.  "Look  at  us  two,"  said  his 
lordship.  "I  am  old,  strong,  and 
honored.  If  I  were  turned  from  my 
house  to-morrow,  hundreds  would  be 
proud  to  shelter  me.  Poor  people 
would  go  out  and  pass  the  night  in 
the  streets  with  their  children,  if  I 
merely  hinted  that  I  wished  to  be 
alone.  And  I  find  you  up,  wandering 
homeless,  and  picking  farthings  off 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND    ADVENTURE  6l 

dead  women  by  the  wayside!  I  fear 
no  man  and  nothing ;  I  have  seen  you 
tremble  and  lose  countenance  at  a 
word.  I  wait  God's  summons  con- 
tentedly in  my  own  house,  or,  if  it 
please  the  king  to  call  me  out  again, 
upon  the  field  of  battle.  You  look 
for  the  gallows ;  a  rough,  swift  death, 
without  hope  or  honor.  Is  there  no 
difference  between  these  two?" 

112.  "As  far  as  to  the  moon,"  Vil- 
lon acquiesced.     "  But  if  I  had  been 
born  Lord  of  Brisetout,  and  you  had 
been  the  poor  scholar  Francis,  would 
the  difference  have  been  any  the  less? 
Should  I  not  have  been  warming  my 
knees  at  this  charcoal  pan,  and  would 
not  you  have  been  groping  for  far- 
things in  the  snow?     Should  not  I 
have  been  the  soldier  and  you   the 
thief?" 

113.  "A  thief?"  cried  the  old  man. 
"la  thief!     If  you  understood  your 
words  you  would  repent  them." 

114.  Villon   turned    out    his   hands 
with   a   gesture   of   inimitable   impu- 
dence.    "  If  your  lordship  had  done 
me   the   honor  to   follow   my   argu- 
ment! "  he  said. 

115.  "I  do  you  too  much  honor  in 
submitting  to  your  presence,"  said  the 
knight.    "  Learn  to  curb  your  tongue 
when  you  speak  with  old  and  honor- 
able men,  or  some  one  hastier  than  I 
may  reprove  you  in  a  sharper  fash- 
ion."   And   he    rose    and    paced    the 
lower  end   of  the  apartment,   strug- 
gling with  anger  and  antipathy.    Vil- 
lon   surreptitiously    refilled    his    cup, 


62  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

and  settled  himself  more  comfortably 
in  the  chair,  crossing  his  knees  and 
leaning  his  head  upon  one  hand  and 
the  elbow  against  the  back  of  the 
chair.  He  was  now  replete  and 
warm,  and  he  was  in  nowise  fright- 
ened for  his  host,  having  gauged  him 
as  justly  as  was  possible  between  two 
such  different  characters.  The  night 
was  far  spent,  and  in  a  very  comfort- 
able fashion  after  all;  and  he  felt 
morally  certain  of  a  safe  departure 
on  the  morrow. 

116.  "Tell  me  one  thing,"  said  the 
old  man,  pausing  in  his  walk.    "Are 
you  really  a  thief?" 

117.  "I  claim  the  sacred  rights  of 
hospitality,"  returned  the  poet.    "  My 
lord,  I  am." 

118.  "You    are    very    young,"    the 
knight  continued. 

119.  "I  should  never  have  been  so 
old,"  replied  Villon,  showing  his  fin- 
gers,   "  if   I   had   not   helped   myself 
with   these    ten  ,  talents.    They   have 
been    my    nursing   mothers    and   my 
nursing  fathers." 

120.  "  You    may    still    repent    and 
change." 

121.  "  I  repent  daily,"  said  the  poet. 
"  There  are  few  people  more  given  to 
repentance    than    poor    Francis.     As 
for  change,  let  somebody  change  my 
circumstances.    A  man  must  continue 
to  eat,  if  it  were  only  that  he  may 
continue  to  repent." 

122.  "  The    change    must    begin    in 
the  heart,"  returned  the  old  man  sol- 
emnly. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND   ADVENTURE  63 

123.  "  My     dear     lord,"     answered 
Villon,  "  do  you  really  fancy  that  I 
steal   for  pleasure?     I  hate  stealing, 
like  any  other  piece  of  work  or  of 
danger.     My  teeth  chatter  when  I  see 
a  gallows.    But  I  must  eat,  I  must 
drink,  I  must  mix  in  society  of  some 
sort.    What  the  devil !     Man  is  not  a 
solitary  animal  —  Cui  Deus  focminam 
tradit.     Make    me    king's    pantler  — 
make  me  abbot  of  St.  Denis ;  make 
me  bailly  of  the  Patatrac ;  and  then  I 
shall  be  changed  indeed.     But  as  long 
as    you   leave   me    the    poor   scholar 
Francis    Villon,    without   a   farthing, 
why,  of  course,  I  remain  the  same." 

124.  "  The  grace  of  God  is  all-pow- 
erful." 

125.  "  I  should  be  a  heretic  to  ques- 
tion it,"  said  Francis.     "  It  has  made 
you  lord  of  Brisetout  and  bailly  of 
the  Patatrac ;  it  has  given  me  nothing 
but  the  quick  wits  under  my  hat  and 
these  ten  toes  upon  my  hands.     May 
I  help  myself  to  wine?     I  thank  you 
respectfully.     By    God's    grace,    you 
have  a  very  superior  vintage." 

126.  The  lord  of  Brisetout  walked 
to  and  fro  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back.     Perhaps  he  was  not  yet  quite 
settled  in  his  mind  about  the  parallel 
between  thieves  and  soldiers  ;  perhaps 
Villon  had   interested  him  by   some 
cross-thread  of  sympathy;  perhaps  his 
wits  were  simply  muddled  by  so  much 
unfamiliar   reasoning;    but   whatever 
the   cause,   he    somehow   yearned   to 
convert  the  young  man  to  a  better 
way  of  thinking,  and  could  not  make 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


up  his  mind  to  drive  him  forth  again 
into  the  street. 

127.  "There  is  something  more 
than  I  can  understand  in  this,"  he 
said  at  length.  "  Your  mouth  is  full 
of  subtleties,  and  the  devil  has  led 
you  very  far  astray;  but  the  devil 
is  only  a  very  weak  spirit  before 
God's  truth,  and  all  his  subtleties 
vanish  at  a  word  of  true  honor,  like 
darkness  at  morning.  Listen  to  me 
once  more.  I  learned  long  ago  that 
a  gentleman  should  live  chivalrously 
and  lovingly  to  God,  and  the  king, 
and  his  lady;  and  though  I  have 
seen  many  strange  things  done,  I 
have  still  striven  to  command  my 
ways  upon  that  rule.  It  is  not  only 
written  in  all  noble  histories,  but  in 
every  man's  heart,  if  he  will  take 
care  to  read.  You  speak  of  food 
and  wine,  and  I  know  very  well  that 
hunger  is  a  difficult  trial  to  endure; 
but  you  do  not  speak  of  other  wants ; 
you  say  nothing  of  honor,  of  faith 
to  God  and  other  men,  of  courtesy, 
of  love  without  reproach.  It  may  be 
that  I  am  not  very  wise  —  and  yet  I 
am  —  but  you  seem  to  me  like  one 
who  has  lost  his  way  and  made  a 
great  error  in  life.  You  are  attend- 
ing to  the  little  wants,  and  you  have 
totally  forgotten  the  great  and  only 
real  ones,  like  a  man  who  should  be 
doctoring  toothache  on  the  Judg- 
ment Day.  For  such  things  as  hon- 
or and  love  and  faith  are  not  only 
nobler  than  food  and  drink,  but  in- 
deed I  think  we  desire  them  more, 


STORIES   OF   ACTION   AND  ADVENTURE  65 


and  suffer  more  sharply  for  their 
absence.  I  speak  to  you  as  I  think 
you  will  most  easily  understand  me. 
Are  you  not  while  careful  to  fill 
your  belly,  disregarding  another  ap- 
petite in  your  heart,  which  spoils 
the  pleasure  of  your  life  and  keeps 
you  continually  wretched?" 

128.  Villon  was  sensibly  nettled 
under  all  this  sermonizing.  "  You 
think  I  have  no  sense  of  honor ! " 
he  cried.  "  I'm  poor  enough,  God 
knows !  It's  hard  to  see  rich  people 
with  their  gloves,  and  you  blowing 
in  your  hands.  An  empty  belly  is  a 
bitter  thing,  although  you  speak  so 
lightly  of  it.  If  you  had  had  as 
many  as  I,  perhaps  you  would 
change  your  tune.  Any  way,  I'm  a 
thief  —  make  the  most  of  that  —  but 
I'm  not  a  devil  from  hell,  God  strike 
me  dead.  I  would  have  you  to 
know  I've  an  honor  of  my  own,  as 
good  as  yours,  though  I  don't  prate 
about  it  all  day  long,  as  if  it  was 
a  God's  miracle  to  have  any.  It 
seems  quite  natural  to  me ;  I  keep 
it  in  its  box  till  it's  wanted.  Why, 
now,  look  you  here,  how  long  have 
I  been  in  this  room  with  you?  Did 
you  not  tell  me  you  were  alone  in 
the  house  ?  Look  at  your  gold  plate ! 
You're  strong,  if  you  like,  but  you're 
old  and  unarmed,  and  I  have  my 
knife.  What  did  I  want  but  a  jerk 
of  the  elbow  and  here  would  have 
been  you  with  the  cold  steel  in  your 
bowels,  and  there  would  have  been 
me,  linking  in  the  streets,  with  an 


66  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

armful  of  golden  cups!  Did  you 
suppose  I  hadn't  wit  enough  to  see 
that?  And  I  scorned  the  action. 
There  are  your  damned  goblets  as 
safe  as  in  a  church,  there  are  you 
with  your  heart  ticking  as  good  as 
new,  and  here  am  I,  ready  to  go  out 
again  as  poor  as  I  came  in,  with 
my  one  white  that  you  threw  in  my 
teeth !  And  you  think  I  have  no 
sense  of  honor  —  God  strike  me 
dead!" 

129.  The    old    man    stretched    out 
his  right  arm.    "  I  will  tell  you  what 
you    are,"    he    said.    "  You    are    a 
rogue,    my    man,    an    impudent    and 
black-hearted    rogue    and    vagabond. 
I    have    passed    an    hour    with    you. 
Oh !   believe   me,   I   feel  myself  dis- 
graced!   And    you   have    eaten    and 
drunk  at  my  table.     But  now  I  am 
sick  at  your  presence;  the  day  has 
come,  and  the  night-bird  should  be 
off  to   his   roost.    Will   you   go   be- 
fore, or  after  ?  " 

130.  "  Which   you  please,"   return- 
ed the  poet,  rising.    "  I  believe  you 
to      be       strictly      honorable."    He 
thoughtfully    emptied    his    cup.    "  I 
wish  I   could  add  you  were  intelli- 
gent," he  went  on,  knocking  on  his 
head  with  his  knuckles.    "  Age !  age ! 
the  brains  stiff  and  rheumatic." 

131.  The    old    man    preceded    him 
from  a  point  of  self-respect;  Villon 
followed,  whistling,  with  his  thumbs 
in  his  girdle. 

132.  "  God  pity  you !  "  said  the  lord 
of  Brisetout  at  the  door. 


STORIES   OF   ACTION    AND   ADVENTURE 

133'  "  Good-bye,  papa,"  returned 
Villon,  with  a  yawn.  "  Many  thanks 
for  the  cold  mutton." 

134.  The  door  closed  behind  him. 
The    dawn    was    breaking    over    the 
white  roofs.    A  chill,  uncomfortable 
morning  ushered  in  the  day.    Villon 
stood  and  heartily  stretched  himself 
in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

135.  "A  very  dull  old  gentleman," 
he    thought.    "  I    wonder    what    his 
goblets  may  be  worth." 


SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 

1.  Briefly  write  out  the  plot  of  the  story. 

2.  Which  incidents  are  essential  to  the  story  (plot  incidents)  ? 

3.  Which  incidents   could  be  altered  without  vitally  changing 
the   story    (developing   incidents)  ?     For   a    discussion   of   these 
types  of  incidents  see  the  present  author's   Writing   the  Short- 
Story,  pp.  174-181. 

4.  Show  how  one  such  change  could  be  made. 

5.  Does  the  external   (visible  or  bodily)   action  stand  out  as 
clearly  as  the  internal  (invisible  or  soul)  action? 

6.  (a)  Is  the  story  probable?     (b)  Usual?     (c)  Convincing? 
—  That  is,  does  it  seem  real? 

7.  What  are  its  strongest  points,  to  you? 

8.  Criticise  its  weak  points,  if  any. 

9.  Can  you  suggest  any  improvements? 

10.  (a)  Do  you  know  any  stories  similar  in  theme?     (b)  If 
so,  which  is  the  better  story,  to  you,  and  why? 

11.  Briefly  write  out  the  plots  of  three   stories  of  action  or 
adventure,  taken  from  any  book  or  magazine. 

12.  Compare  one  of  them  with  one  of  these  two  stories. 


68  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  STORIES  OF  ACTION 
AND  ADVENTURE 

"  After  He  was  Dead,"  Melville  Davisson  Post.  Atlantic 
Monthly,  April,  1911. 

"  The  Attack  on  the  Mill,"  fimile  Zola.  Translated  in 
Great  Short  Stories. 

"The  Taking  of  the  Redoubt,"  Prosper  Merimee. 
Translated  in  Short-Story  Masterpieces. 

"The  Man  Who  Would  be  King,"  Rudyard  Kipling. 
In  The  Phantom  Rickshaw  (and  other  stories). 

"  The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door,"  Robert  Louis  Steven- 
son. In  New  Arabian  Nights. 

"The  Diamond  Lens,"  Fitz-James  O'Brien.  In  Short 
Story  Classics,  American. 

"  The  Young  Man  in  a  Hurry,"  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Harper's  Magazine,  Aug.,  1903. 

"  A  Fight  for  the  Tsarina,"  Maurus  Jokai.  Translated 
in  Masterpieces  of  Fiction. 

"  The  Window  that  Monsieur  Forgot,"  Mary  Imlay  Tay- 
lor. The  Booklovers  Magazine,  Jan.,  1904. 

"  Blood  o'  Innocence,"  George  W.  Knapp.  Lippincott's 
Magazine,  Nov.,  1907. 


II 

STORIES  OF  MYSTERY  AND 
FANTASY 

The  Purloined  Letter. —  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 
The  Monkey's  Paw.—  W.  W.  JACOBS 


69 


The  fact  is  ...  that,  in  the  riddle  story,  the  detective  was  an 
afterthought,  or,  more  accurately,  a  deus  ex  machina  to  make  the 
story  go.  The  riddle  had  to  be  unriddled ;  and  who  could  do  it 
so  naturally  and  readily  as  a  detective?  The  detective,  as  Poe 
saw  him,  was  a  means  to  this  end;  and  it  was  only  afterwards 
that  writers  perceived  his  availability  as  a  character.  Lecoq 
accordingly  becomes  a  figure  in  fiction,  and  Sherlock,  while  he 
was  as  yet  a  novelty,  was  nearly  as  attractive  as  the  complications 
in  which  he  involved  himself. —  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE,  Introduction 
to  The  Lock  and  Key  Library. 

The  literature  of  ghosts  is  very  ancient.  In  visions  of  the 
night,  and  in  the  lurid  vapors  of  mystic  incantations,  figures  rise 
and  smile,  or  frown  and  disappear.  The  Witch  of  Endor  mur- 
murs her  spell,  and  "an  old  man  cometh  up,  and  he  is  covered 
with  a  mantle."  Macbeth  takes  a  bond  of  fate,  and  from  Hecate's 
caldron,  after  the  apparition  of  an  armed  head  and  that  of  a 
bloody  child,  "  an  apparition  of  a  child  crowned,  with  a  tree  in 
his  hand,  rises."  The  wizard  recounts  to  Lochiel  his  warning 
vision,  and  Lochiel  departs  to  his  doom.  There  are  stories  of 
the  Castle  of  Otranto  and  of  The  Three  Spaniards,  and  the 
infinite  detail  of  "  singular  experiences,"  which  make  our  con- 
scious daily  life  the  frontier  and  border-land  of  an  impinging 
world  of  mystery. —  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS,  Introduction  to 
Modern  Ghosts. 


STORIES  OF  MYSTERY  AND  FANTASY 

Even  more  deeply  seated  and  elemental  than  our  love 
for  the  mysterious  is  our  passion  for  undertaking  its 
solution.  It  is  this,  doubtless,  that  challenges  us  to  match 
our  wits  with  the  clever  rogues  of  fiction,  and  to  pit 
our  resources  of  detection  against  the  forces  seen  and 
unseen  which  play  in  tales  of  the  weird,  the  mysterious, 
and  the  unexplained. 

Such  stories  readily  fall  into  two  classes,  with  as  many 
sub-sorts  as  the  invention  of  man  may  compass  —  those 
which  are  soluble  and  those  which  are  not.  Of  the  for- 
mer, the  detective  story  is  the  more  common,  followed  at 
no  very  great  distance  by  the  tale  which  seems  to  involve 
the  supernatural,  but  whose  mystery  transpires  quite 
plainly  in  the  end.  Of  the  latter  are  all  those  inexpli- 
cable wonder-fictions  dealing  with  shapes  that  haunt  the 
dream-dusk,  the  whole  shadow-land  of  wraiths  and 
spirits  and  presences  and  immaterialities  which  cross  the 
borders  of  experience  at  the  call  of  fantasy.  They  are 
all  the  inheritance  of  the  credulous  age  in  which  romance 
was  born,  and  few  of  us  are  so  engirded  with  the 
armor  of  stoicism  that  we  cannot  enjoy  their  gathering 
goose-flesh  and  creeping  spinal  chill.  Hawthorne  and 
Poe  and  Irving  were  masters  here. 

The  processes  of  inductive  reasoning  by  which  VoJ- 

71 


72  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

taire's  Zadig  reconstructed  actual  occurrences  from 
trivial  clues  have  developed  into  modern  detective  stories 
of  uncounted  variety,  in  which  the  criminal  is  hunted 
down  by  a  professional  sleuth.  Then,  too,  the  "  clever 
amateur  "  often  takes  a  hand  in  the  game,  and  even  acci- 
dent plays  at  times,  until  there  is  no  end  to  the  possible 
combinations  growing  out  of  pure  reasoning  employed  to 
unravel  the  tangle. 

Much  the  same  processes  are  employed  to  discover  the 
pseudo-supernatural  mystery,  like  Fitz-James  O'Brien's 
solved  ghost-story,  "  What  Was  It  ?  A  Mystery."  But 
when  we  enter  the  domain  of  the  unexplained,  the  story 
tends  to  become  a  study  of  fear  and  of  pure  mystery,  like 
Marion  Crawford's  "The  Upper  Berth,"  and  "The 
Damned  Thing,"  by  Ambrose  Bierce. 

Poe  was  the  great  American  originator  of  the  detective 
story,  and  to-day  his  "  Purloined  Letter,"  reproduced  here 
in  full,  "  The  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget,"  and  "  The  Mur- 
ders in  the  Rue  Morgue,"  are  unsurpassed. 

POE  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

Edgar  Allan  Poe  was  born  in  Boston,  January  19, 
1809.  His  father,  of  a  good  Maryland  family,  was  an 
actor,  and  his  mother  an  actress  of  English  extraction. 
Both  parents  dying  before  Edgar  was  three,  he,  with  his 
brother  William  and  sister  Rosalie,  was  left  homeless  in 
Richmond,  where  each  found  a  protector.  Mrs.  Allan 
adopted  Edgar,  giving  him  his  middle  name,  and  bestow- 
ing at  the  same  time  every  opportunity  that  wealth  could 


STORIES   OF   MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY  73 

offer.  He  was  sent  to  school  at  Stoke  Newington,  Eng- 
land, attended  a  private  school  in  Richmond,  and  entered 
the  University  of  Virginia,  but  remained  there  less  than 
a  year,  for  his  reckless  and  erratic  temperament  champed 
under  the  restraints  of  routine.  He  was  placed  in  Mr. 
Allan's  counting-room,  but  ran  away  to  enlist  in  the 
United  States  Army  as  "  Edgar  Allan  Perry."  After  the 
death  of  Mrs.  Allan,  her  husband  secured  Poe's  discharge 
from  the  army  and  his  appointment  to  West  Point  as  a 
cadet,  July  I,  1830;  but  after  six  months  Poe  contrived 
to  be  dismissed.  He  had  already  published  his  poems 
successfully,  so  he  went  to  New  York,  in  the  early  part 
of  1831,  to  begin  his  professional  literary  life.  For  four 
years — 1833  to  1837  —  he  wrote  brilliantly  for  The 
Southern  Literary  Messenger,  in  Baltimore.  Then  he 
went  successively  to  New  York  and  Philadelphia,  where 
he  worked  on  various  literary  enterprises  for  six  years. 
In  1844  he  returned  to  New  York,  and  became  assistant 
to  N.  P.  Willis,  in  whose  journal,  The  Mirror,  "  The 
Raven  "  appeared  in  1845.  Poe's  literary  reputation  was 
now  established  both  in  America  and  abroad,  most  of  his 
masterpieces  having  been  created  during  the  turbulent 
years  of  his  wanderings.  In  1835  he  had  been  married 
to  Virginia  Clemm,  his  cousin,  and  her  early  death  in 
1847  broke  his  spirit.  His  health  had  already  succumbed 
to  his  morbid  temperament  —  which  magnified  every  sor- 
row of  his  chaotic  career  —  and  to  the  excesses  of  drugs 
and  drink.  He  died  most  unhappily,  October  7,  1849,  at 
the  age  of  forty  —  a  master  spirit  pitifully  wrecked  be- 
fore his  prime. 


74  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

Poe  was  a  remarkable  poet,  essayist,  critic,  and  short- 
story  writer.  "The  Raven,"  "  Lenore,"  "  Ulalume," 
"  The  Bells,"  "  Annabel  Lee,"  "  Israfel,"  and  "  To  One 
in  Paradise  "  are  among  his  best  poems.  Probably  the 
greatest  of  his  stories  are,  "  MS.  Found  in  A  Bottle," 
"The  Assignation,"  "  Ligeia,"  "The  Murders  in  The 
Rue  Morgue,"  "The  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget,"  "A 
Descent  into  The  Maelstrom,"  "  The  Masque  of  The  Red 
Death,"  "  The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum,"  "  The  Gold  Bug," 
"  The  Black  Cat,"  "  The  Cask  of  Amontillado,"  "  The 
Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher,"  first  published  in  Burton's 
Gentleman's  Magazine,  September,  1839  —  and  "  The 
Purloined  Letter,"  first  published  in  The  Gift,  an  "  an- 
nual," in  1845. 

Poe  was  the  greatest  conscious  artist  that  American 
literature  has  ever  known.  He  not  only  looked  backward 
upon  his  own  work  and,  as  did  Stevenson,  clearly  traced 
the  operations  of  his  mind  in  its  production,  but  he  built 
up  a  structure  of  literary  theory  which  has  been  power- 
fully attacked,  indeed,  but  whose  walls  remain  sub- 
stantially whole  to-day.  To  his  constructive  criticism  of 
the  short-story  is  directly  due  its  present  advanced  form, 
for  while  current  practice  has  widely  departed  from  Poe's 
morbid,  gloomy,  extravagant  themes  and  formal,  abun- 
dant diction,  his  stories  are  still  unsurpassed  for  vigor, 
atmosphere,  invention,  and  thrill,  and  his  laws  of  com- 
position are  read  everywhere  with  the  respect  due 
authority. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY   AND    FANTASY  75 

Ah,  dream  too  bright  to  last! 
Ah,  starry  Hope,  that  didst  arise 

But  to  be  overcast! 
A   voice    from   out   the   Future   cries, 

"Onward!" — but  o'er  the  Past 
(Dim  gulf!)   my  spirit  hovering  lies, 

Mute  —  motionless  —  aghast! 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE,  The  Assignation. 

Had  you  lived  a  generation  later,  honor,  wealth,  applause, 
success  in  Europe  and  at  home,  would  all  have  been  yours. — 
ANDREW  LANG,  Letters  to  Dead  Authors, 

There  are  literary  evolutionists  who,  in  their  whim  of  seeing 
in  every  original  writer  a  copy  of  some  predecessor,  have  declared 
that  Hawthorne  is  derived  from  Tieck,  and  Poe  from  Hoffmann. 
...  If  the  adjective  American  has  any  meaning  at  all,  it  quali- 
fies Poe  and  Hawthorne.  They  were  American  to  the  core. 
They  both  revealed  the  curious  sympathy  with  Oriental  moods 
of  thought  which  is  often  an  American  characteristic.  Poe,  with 
his  cold  logic  and  his  mathematical  analysis,  and  Hawthorne, 
with  his  introspective  conscience  and  his  love  of  the  subtile  and 
the  invisible,  are  representative  of  phases  of  American  character 
not  to  be  mistaken  by  any  one  who  has  given  thought  to  the 
influence  of  nationality.  .  .  .  Nothing  better  of  its  kind  has  ever 
been  done  than  the  "  Pit  and  the  Pendulum,"  or  than  the  "  Fall 
of  the  House  of  Usher"  (which  has  been  compared  aptly  with 
Browning's  "  Childe  Roland  to  the  Dark  Tower  Came  "  for  its 
power  of  suggesting  intellectual  desolation).  Nothing  better  of 
its  kind  has  ever  been  done  than  the  "  Gold  Bug,"  or  than  the 
"  Purloined  Letter,"  or  than  the  "  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue." 
—  BRANDER  MATTHEWS,  The  Philosophy  of  the  Short-story. 

The  conception  of  gloomy  terror  which  impregnates  "The 
House  of  Usher  "  is  as  complete  as  the  idea  of  medieval  chiv- 
alry underlying  Ivanhoe.  ...  To  be  sure,  the  terror  in  his 
stories,  so  he  said  in  his  preface  to  the  Tales  of  the  Grotesque 
and  the  Arabesque,  was  "not  of  Germany,  but  of  the  soul."  .  .  . 
Yet  one  can  readily  believe  that  his  Roderick  in  "  The  House 
of  Usher,"  who  pored  over  books  which  had  the  "character  of 
phantasm,"  Morella,  who  was  interested  in  the  transcendentalism 


76  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

of  Schelling  and  Fichte,  ^Egseus,  whom  "the  realities  of  the 
world  affected  —  as  visions,"  are  all  identical  with  the  Young 
Poe  when  he  freed  his  mind  and  later  his  fancy  in  the  fields 
where  Novalis  sought  the  blue  flower  and  all  the  German  ro- 
manticists wandered.  .  .  .  To  say  that  Poe  was  a  creature  of 
German  influence  would  be  absurd.  To  say  that  German1  thought 
and  fancy  were  sympathetic  to  his  genius,  would  be  putting  it 
too  mildly.  Between  these  extremes  the  truth  must  lie.  —  H.  S. 
CANBY,  The  Short  Story  in  English. 

FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON  POE 

Prose  Writers  of  America,  Rufus  W.  Griswold  (1870)  ; 
Short  Studies  of  American  Authors,  Thomas  W.  Hig- 
ginson  (1880)  ;  Letters  to  Dead  Authors,  Andrew  Lang 
(1886);  Criticisms  on  Contemporary  Thought,  Richard 
H.  Hutton  (1894)  ;  American  Lands  and  Letters,  Donald 
G.  Mitchell  (1897-99)  ;  Life  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  R.  H. 
Stoddard  (1899)  ;  Poe  and  Some  of  His  Critics,  C.  W. 
Hubner  ( 1906)  ;  Life  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  Personal  and 
Literary,  George  E.  Woodberry  ( 1909)  ;  Edgar  Allan 
Poe,  A  Critical  Study,  Arthur  Ransome  (1910). 

THE  PURLOINED  LETTER 

Nil   sapientiae  odiosius  acumina  nimio. —  Seneca. 
(Nothing  is  more  odious  to   wisdom  than  too  great  acumen.) 

BY   EDGAR   ALLAN    POE 


At  Paris,  just  after  dark  one  gusty  FORMAL  INTRODUCTION. 

evening  in  the  autumn  of  18 — ,  I  was  Dupin  appears  as  the  detec- 
en joying  the  twofold  luxury  of  medi-  tive  in  Poe's  other  mys- 
tation  and  a  meerschaum,  in  com-  tery  .storics'  " The  Mur' 

.  ,  .  .       ,    _.      .  -^  ders  in  the  Rue  Morgue, 

pany  with  my  friend  C.  Auguste  Du-  and  .,  The  Mystery  of 
pin,  in  his  little  back  library,  or  Marie  Roget." 


STORIES  OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


77 


book  closet,  au  troisicme,  No.  33 
Rue  Dundt,  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 
For  one  hour  at  least  we  had  main- 
tained a  profound  silence;  while  each, 
to  any  casual  observer,  might  have 
seemed  intently  and  exclusively  oc- 
cupied with  the  curling  eddies  of 
smoke  that  oppressed  the  atmosphere 
of  the  chamber.  For  myself,  how- 
ever, I  was  mentally  discussing  cer- 
tain topics  which  had  formed  matter 
for  conversation  between  us  at  an 
earlier  period  of  the  evening;  I  mean 
the  affair  of  the  Rue  Morgue,  and 
the  mystery  attending  the  murder  of 
Marie  Roget.  I  looked  upon  it, 
therefore,  as  something  of  a  coinci- 
dence, when  the  door  of  our  apart- 
ment was  thrown  open  and  admit- 
ted our  old  acquaintance,  Monsieur 

G ,   the   Prefect   of   the   Parisian 

police. 

2.  We  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome ; 
for  there  was  nearly  half  as  much  of 
the  entertaining  as  of  the  contemp- 
tible about  the  man,  and  we  had  not 
seen  him  for  several  years.    We  had 
been  sitting  in  the  dark,  and  Dupin 
now  arose  for  the  purpose  of  light- 
ing   a    lamp,    but    sat    down    again, 
without  doing  so,  upon  G 's  say- 
ing that  he  had  called  to  consult  us, 
or  rather  to  ask  the  opinion  of  my 
friend,   about    some    official   business 
which   had  occasioned  a  great  deal 
of  trouble. 

3.  "If  it  is  any  point  requiring  re- 
flection," observed  Dupin,  as  he  for- 
bore to  enkindle  the  wick,  "  we  shall 


Au    troisi&me —  third    flight, 
or  fourth  floor. 


Compare  this  story  with 
Sardou's  "  A  Scrap  of 
Paper." 


also  appears  'in  "  The 

Mystery  of  Marie   Roget." 


Careless  English. 


/8 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


examine  it  to  better  purpose  in  the 
dark." 

4.  "  That   is   another   of  your   odd 
notions,"  said  the  Prefect,  who  had 
a     fashion     of     calling     everything 
"  odd "    that    was    beyond    his    com- 
prehension, and  thus  lived  amid  an 
absolute  legion  of  "oddities." 

5.  "  Very  true,"  said  Dupin,  as  he 
supplied  his  visitor  with  a  pipe,  and 
rolled    towards    him    a    comfortable 
chair. 

6.  "  And     what     is     the     difficulty 
now  ?  "  I  asked.     "  Nothing  more  in 
the   assassination   way,   I   hope?" 

7.  "  Oh,  no ;  nothing  of  that  nature. 
The    fact    is,    the    business    is    very 
simple,  indeed,  and  I  make  no  doubt 
that  we  can  manage  it  sufficiently  well 
ourselves;  but  then  I  thought  Dupin 
would  like  to  hear  the  details  of  it, 
because  it  is  so  excessively  odd." 

8.  "  Simple  and  odd,"  said  Dupin. 

9.  "  Why,    yes ;    and    not    exactly 
that,  either.     The  fact  is,  we  have  all 
been  a  good  deal  puzzled  because  the 
affair  is  so  simple,  and  yet  baffles  us 
altogether." 

10.  "  Perhaps  it  is  the  very  simplic- 
city  of  the  thing  which  puts  you  at 
fault,"  said  my  friend. 

11.  "What  nonsense  you  do  talk!" 
replied  the  Prefect,  laughing  heartily. 

12.  "  Perhaps  the  mystery  is  a  little 
too  plain,"  said  Dupin. 

13.  "  Oh,  good  Heavens !  who  ever 
heard  of  such  an  idea?  " 

14.  "A  little  too  self-evident." 

15.  "Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ho! 


Later  writers  of  detectite 
stories  follow  Poe's  lead 
in  showing  contempt  for 
police  officials. 


Poe    makes    G to    serve 

as  a  foil  for  Dupin,  while 
the  narrator  plays  Watson 
to  Dupin's  Sherlock  —  but 
Poe  came  first! 

Forecast  of  denouement. 
Note  how  this  point  is 
emphasized. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


79 


ho !  ho ! "  roared  our  visitor,  pro- 
foundly amused.  "Oh,  Dupin,  you 
will  be  the  death  of  me  yet ! " 

16.  "And   what,   after   all,   is  the 
matter  on  hand  ?  "  I  asked. 

17.  "  Why,  I  will  tell  you,"  replied 
the  Prefect,  as  he  gave  a  long,  steady, 
and   contemplative   puff,   and    settled 
himself  in  his  chair.     "  I  will  tell  you 
in  a  few  words;  but,  before  I  begin, 
let  me  caution  you  that  this  is  an  af- 
fair demanding  the  greatest  secrecy, 
and  that  I  should  most  probably  lose 
the    position    I    now    hold    were    it 
known  that  I  confided  it  to  any  one." 

18.  "  Proceed,"  said  I. 

19.  "  Or  not,"  said  Dupin. 

20.  "Well,   then;    I    have   received 
personal    information    from    a    very 
high  quarter  that  a  certain  document 
of  the  last  importance  has  been  pur- 
loined   from    the    royal    apartments. 
The   individual   who   purloined  it   is 
known ;  this  beyond  a  doubt ;  he  was 
seen  to  take   it.     It  is  known,  also, 
that    it    still   remains   in   his   posses- 
sion." 

21.  "How  is  this  known?"  asked 
Dupin. 

22.  "  It  is  clearly  inferred,"  replied 
the  Prefect,  "  from  the  nature  of  the 
document,  and  from  the  non-appear- 
ance of  certain  results  which  would 
at  once  arise  from  its  passing  out  of 
the  robber's  possession ;  that  is  to  say, 
from  his  employing  it  as  he  must  de- 
sign in  the  end  to  employ  it." 

23.  "  Be  a  little  more   explicit,"  I 
said. 


Later  imitators  freely  use 
this  scheme  of  the  su- 
perior pose  of  the  police. 


This    device    has    since    been 
much  overworked. 


LENGTHY  INTRODUCTION 

ENDS. 

Note  that  this  is  one  unified 
story,  with  much  philoso- 
phising, but  no  minor  epi- 
sodes. 

The  foundation  laid;  SUM- 
MARY OF  PROBLEM. 


Development  of  problem. 


8o 


STUDYING   THE  SHORT-STORY 


24.  "  Well,  I  may  venture  so  far  as 
to  say  that  the  paper  gives  its  holder 
a  certain  power  in  a  certain  quarter 
where  such  power  is  immensely  valu- 
able."   The  Prefect  was  fond  of  the 
cant  of  diplomacy. 

25.  "  Still   I    do   not   quite   under- 
stand," said  Dupin. 

26.  "  No  ?   well ;    the   disclosure   of 
the  document  to  a  third  person,  who 
shall    be    nameless,    would    bring   in 
question   the   honor   of  a   personage 
of  most  exalted  station ;  and  this  fact 
gives  the  holder  of  the  document  an 
ascendency  over  the   illustrious  per- 
sonage whose  honor  and  peace  are  so 
jeopardized." 

27.  "  But  this  ascendency,"  I  inter- 
posed, "would  depend  upon  the  rob- 
ber's knowledge  of  the  loser's  knowl- 
edge   of    the    robber.    Who    would 
dare—" 

28.  "The    thief,"    said    G ,    "is 

the    Minister    D ,   who   dares    all 

things,  those  unbecoming  as  well  as 
those  becoming  a  man.     The  method 
of  the  theft  was  not  less  ingenious 
than  bold.     The  document  in  question 
—  a   letter,  to  be   frank  —  had   been 
received    by    the    personage    robbed 
while    alone    in    the    royal    boudoir. 
During  its  perusal  she  was  suddenly 
interrupted   by   the    entrance   of   the 
other  exalted  personage',  from  whom 
especially  it  was  her  wish  to  conceal 
it.    After  a  hurried  and  vain  endeav- 
or to  thrust  it  in  a  drawer,  she  was 
forced  to  place  it,  open  as  it  was,  up- 
on  a  table.    The   address,   however, 


Impovtance  of  problem 


Philosophy  of  problem. 


Unique    situation:    the    tfcief 

is   known. 
Method      and      circumstances 

of  the  theft  related. 


STORIES  OF    MYSTERY   AND   FANTASY  8l 

was  uppermost,  and,  the  contents  thus      See  note  on  K  115,  p.   104. 
unexposed,  the  letter  escaped  notice. 
At  this  juncture  enters  the  Minister 

D .    His    lynx    eye    immediately 

perceives  the  paper,  recognizes  the 
handwriting  of  the  address,  observes 
the  confusion  of  the  personage  ad- 
dressed, and  fathoms  her  secret.  Af- 
ter some  business  transactions,  hur- 
ried through  in  his  ordinary  manner, 
he  produces  a  letter  somewhat  similar 
to  the  one  in  question,  opens  it,  pre- 
tends to  read  it,  and  then  places  it 
in  close  juxtaposition  to  the  other. 
Again  he  converses  for  some  fifteen 
minutes  upon  the  public  affairs.  At  Note  "  the." 
length  in  taking  leave  he  takes  also 
from  the  table  the  letter  to  which  he 
had  no  claim.  Its  rightful  owner 
saw,  but  of  course  dared  not  call  at- 
tention to  the  act,  in  the  presence  of 
the  third  personage,  who  stood  at 
her  elbow.  The  minister  decamped, 
leaving  his  own  letter  —  one  of  no 
importance  —  upon  the  table." 

29.  "  Here,  then,"  said  Dupin  to  me, 
"  you  have  precisely  what  you  demand 
to  make  the  ascendency  complete  — 
the  robber's  knowledge  of  the  loser's 
knowledge  of  the  robber." 

30.  "  Yes,"     replied     the     Prefect ;       Results  of  theft. 
"  and  the  power  thus  attained  has,  for 

some  months  past,  been  wielded,  for 
political  purposes,  to  a  very  danger- 
ous extent.  The  personage  robbed  is 
more  thoroughly  convinced,  every 
day,  of  the  necessity  of  reclaiming  her 
letter.  But  this,  of  course,  cannot  be 
done  openly.  In  fine,  driven  to  des- 


82 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


pair,  she  has  committed  the  matter  to 
me." 

31.  "  Than     whom,"     said     Dupin, 
amid  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  smoke, 
"  no   more   sagacious  agent  could,   I 
suppose,  be  desired,  or  even  imagin- 
ed." 

32.  "  You   flatter  me,"   replied   the 
Prefect;  "but  it  is  possible  that  some 
such  opinion  may  have  been   enter- 
tained," 

33.  "  It  is  clear,"  said  I,  "  as  you  ob- 
serve, that  the  letter  is  still  in  pos- 
session of  the  minister  ;  since  it  is  this 
possession,  and  not  any  employment 
of  the  letter,  which  bestows  the  pow- 
er.   With  the  employment  the  power 
departs." 

34.  "  True,"  said  G ,  "  and  up- 
on this  conviction  I  proceeded.     My 
first    care    was    to    make    thorough 
search   of  the  minister's  hotel;    and 
here  my  chief  embarrassment  lay  in 
ihe  necessity  of  searching  without  his 
knowledge.     Beyond     all     things,     I 
have    been    warned    of    the    danger 
which  would  result  from  giving  him 
reason  to  suspect  our  design." 

35.  "But,"  said  I,  "you  are  quite 
au  fait    in  these  investigations.    The 
Parisian  police  have  done  this  thing 
often  before." 

36.  "Oh,  yes;  and  for  this  reason 
I  did  not  despair.     The  habits  of  the 
minister   gave   me,   too,   a  great  ad- 
vantage.    He     is     frequently    absent 
from  home   all  night.     His   servants 
are   by   no    means    numerous.     They 
sleep  at  a  distance  from  their  master's 


End  of  statement  of  case  as 
a   problem. 

Character  development. 
Satire    supports    his    attitude 
toward   the   police. 


Character    delineation. 


ATTEMPTS  AT  RECOVERY  r* 
THE  PURLOINED  LETTER. 
SECOND  STAGE  OF  THE 
PLOT. 


Au     fait  —  to     the     point; 
therefore,     at    home. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


apartment,  and  being  chiefly  Nea- 
politans, are  readily  made  drunk.  I 
have  keys,  as  you  know,  with  which 
I  can  open  any  chamber  or  cabinet  in 
Paris.  For  three  months,  a  night  has 
not  passed  during  the  greater  part 
of  which  I  have  not  been  engaged, 

personally,  in  ransacking  the  D 

Hotel.  My  honor  is  interested,  and, 
to  mention  a  great  secret,  the  reward 
is  enormous.  So  I  did  not  abandon 
the  search  until  I  had  become  fully 
satisfied  that  the  thief  is  a  more  as- 
tute man  than  myself.  I  fancy  that 
I  have  investigated  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  premises  in  which  it  is 
possible  that  the  paper  can  be  con- 
cealed." 

37.  "  But  is  it  not  possible,"  I  sug- 
gested, "  that  although  the  letter  may 
be  in  possession  of  the  minister,  as  it 
unquestionably  is,  he  may  have  con- 
cealed it  elsewhere  than  upon  his  own 
premises?  " 

38.  "This  is  barely  possible,"  said 
Dupin.     "  The  present  peculiar  condi- 
tion of  affairs  at  court,  and  especially 

of  those  intrigues  in  which  D is 

known  to  be  involved,  would  render 
the  instant  availability  of  the  docu- 
ment —  its  susceptibility  of  being  pro- 
duced at  a  moment's  notice  —  a  point 
of  nearly  equal  importance  with  its 
possession." 

39.  "  Its  susceptibility  of  being  pro- 
duced? "  said  I. 

40.  "That  is  to  say,  of  being  de- 
stroyed," said  Dupin. 

41.  "  True,"  I  observed  ;  "  the  paper 


Inferential   reasoning. 


Note  the  distinction. 


A  just  inference. 


84 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


is  clearly  then  upon  the  premises.  As 
for  its  being  upon  the  person  of  the 
minister,  we  may  consider  that  as  out 
of  the  question." 

42.  "  Entirely,"    said    the    Prefect. 
"He  has  been  twice  waylaid,   as  if 
by   footpads,   and   his   person   rigor- 
ously   searched    under    my    own    in- 
spection." 

43.  "  You  might  have  spared  your- 
self     this      trouble,"      said      Dupin. 

"D ,  I  presume,  is  not  altogether 

a  fool,  and,  if  not,  must  have  antici- 
pated these  waylayings  as  a  matter  of 
course." 

44.  "    Not  altogether  a  fool,"  said 

G ;  "but  then  he's  a  poet,  which 

I  take  to  be  only  one  remove  from  a 
fool." 

45.  "True,"    said    Dupin,    after    a 
long  and  thoughtful  whiff  from  his 
meerschaum,  "although  I  have  been 
guilty  of  certain  doggerel  myself." 

46.  "  Suppose   you   detail,"   said   I, 
"  the  particulars  of  your  search." 

47.  "  Why,  the  fact  is,  we  took  our 
time,  and  we  searched  everywhere.     I 
have  had  long  experience  in  these  af- 
fairs.    I    took    the    entire    building, 
room  by  room,  devoting  the  nights  of 
a  whole  week  to  each.     We  examined, 
first,  the  furniture  of  each  apartment. 
We   opened   every   possible   drawer; 
and  I  presume  you  know  that,  to  a 
properly  trained  police  agent,  such  a 
thing  as  a  secret  drawer  is  impossible. 
Any  man   is   a   dolt   who  permits   a 
'  secret '  drawer  to  escape  him   in  a 
search  of  this  kind.     The  thing  is  so 


The     thoroughness  of     the 

search     tends     to  interest 

the  reader   in   the  problem 
as  a  difficult  one. 


On  Poe's  "police  methods" 
most  modern  detective 
writers  have  drawn  for 
material. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


plain.  There  is  a  certain  amount  of 
bulk  —  of  space  —  to  be  accounted  for 
in  every  cabinet.  Then  we  have  ac- 
curate rules.  The  fiftieth  part  of  a 
line  could  not  escape  us.  After  the 
cabinets  we  took  the  chairs.  The 
cushions  we  probed  with  the  fine  long 
needles  you  have  seen  me  employ. 
From  the  tables  we  removed  the 
tops." 

48.  "Why  so0" 

49.  "  Sometimes  the  top  of  a  table, 
or  other  similarly  arranged  piece  of 
furniture,  is  removed  by  the  person 
wishing  to  conceal  an   article;   then 
the  leg  is  excavated,  the  article  de- 
posited within  the  cavity,  and  the  top 
replaced.     The  bottoms  and  tops  of 
bed-posts  are  employed  in  the  same 
way." 

50.  "  But  could  not  the   cavity  be 
detected  by  sounding?  "  I  asked. 

51.  "  By   no   means,    if,    when   the 
article  is  deposited,  a  sufficient  wad- 
ding of  cotton  be  placed  around  it. 
Besides,  in  our  case  we  were  obliged 
to  proceed  without  noise." 

52.  "  But  you   could   not  have   re- 
moved —  you   could   not   have   taken 
to  pieces  all  articles  of  furniture  in 
which  it  would  have  been  possible  to 
make  a  deposit   in  the  manner  you 
mention.    A  letter  may  be  compress- 
ed into  a  thin  spiral  roll,  not  differ- 
ing much  in  shape  or  bulk  from   a 
large    knitting-needle,    and    in     this 
form   it  might   be   inserted   into  the 
rung  of  a  chair,  for  example.     You 
did  not  take  to  pieces  all  the  chairs  ?  " 


Doubtless 
speaks. 


the 


narrator 


Note     improper     shifting     of 
tenses     in     question     and 

answer. 


86 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


53.  "  Certainly  not ;  but  we  did  bet- 
ter —  we  examined  the  rungs  of  every 
chair  in  the   hotel,   and   indeed,  the 
jointings     of     every     description     of 
furniture,  by  the  aid  of  a  most  power- 
ful microscope.    Had  there  been  any 
traces  of  recent  disturbance  we  should 
not  have  failed  to  detect  it  instantly. 
A  single  grain  of  gimlet-dust,  for  ex- 
ample, would  have  been  as  obvious  as 
an  apple.     Any  disorder  in  the  gluing 

—  any  unusual  gaping  in  the  joints 

—  would  have  sufficed  to  insure  de- 
tection." 

54.  "  I  presume  you  looked  to  the 
mirrors,  between  the  boards  and  the 
plates,  and  you  probed  the  beds  and 
the  bedclothes,  as  well  as  the  curtains 
and  carpets?  " 

55.  "  That,  of  course ;  and  when  we 
had  absolutely  completed  every  parti- 
cle of  the  furniture  in  this  way,  then 
we   examined   the  house   itself.    We 
divided  its  entire  surface  into  com- 
partments,   which    we    numbered,    so 
that  none  might  be  missed ;  then  we 
scrutinized    each     individual    square 
inch  throughout  the  premises  includ- 
ing* the  two  houses  immediately  ad- 
joining, with  the  microscope,  as  be- 
fore." 

56.  "The  two  houses  adjoining!" 
I  exclaimed;  "you  must  have  had  a 
great  deal  of  trouble." 

57.  "  We  had ;  but  the  reward  offer- 
ed is  prodigious." 

58.  "  You  include  the  grounds  about 
the  houses'.'  ' 

59.  "  All    the    grounds    are    paved 


Note  how  ingeniously  Poe 
weaves  his  knowledge  of 
detective  methods  into  the 
actual  search  of  the  story. 


This  seems  to  be  a  break  in 
the  chain  of  probability, 
as  G —  has  already  care- 
fully explained  how  he 
was  able  to  go  over 

D 's     house     with     in^ 

punity. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


with  brick.  They  gave  us  compara- 
tively little  trouble.  We  examined 
the  moss  between  the  bricks,  and 
found  it  undisturbed." 

60.  "  You    looked    among    D 's 

papers,  of  course,  and  into  the  books 
of  the  library?" 

61.  "  Certainly ;    we    opened    every 
package  and  parcel ;  we  not  only  open- 
ed every  book,  but  we  turned  over 
every  leaf  in  each  volume,  not  con- 
tenting ourselves  with  a  mere  shake, 
according  to  the  fashion  of  some  of 
our  police  officers,    We  also  measured 
the    thickness    of    every    book-cover, 
with   the   most   accurate   admeasure- 
ment, and  applied  to  each  the  most 
jealous    scrutiny   of   the   microscope. 
Had  any  of  the  bindings  been  recent- 
ly meddled  with,  it  would  have  been 
utterly  impossible  that  the  fact  should 
have  escaped  observation.     Some  five 
or  six  volumes,  just  from  the  hands 
of  the  binder,   we  carefully   probed, 
longitudinally,  with  the  needles." 

62.  "  You   explored   the   floors  be- 
neath the  carpets  ? " 

63.  "  Beyond   doubt.     We   removed 
every  carpet,  and  examined  the  boards 
with  the  microscope." 

64.  "  And  the  paper  on  the  walls?  " 

65.  "  Yes." 

66.  "  You  looked  into  the  cellars  ?  " 

67.  "  We  did." 

68.  "  Then,"  I  said,  "  you  have  been 
making  a  miscalculation,  and  the  let- 
ter is  not  on  the  premises,  as  you  sup- 
pose." 


Note    unusual    word. 


Dupin   would   not   have   said 
this. 


88 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


69.  "I  fear  you  are  right  there," 
said  the  Prefect.  "And  now,  Dupin, 
what  would  you  advise  me  to  do  ?  " 

70  "  To  make  a  thorough  re-search 
of  the  premises." 

71.  "  That  is   absolutely  needless," 

replied  G .    "  I  am  not  more  sure 

that  I  breathe  than  I  am  that  the  let- 
ter is  not  at  the  Hotel." 

72.  "  I    have    no    better    advice    to 
give  you,"  said  Dupin.    "  You  have, 
of  course,  an  accurate  description  of 
the  letter?" 

73.  "  Oh,  yes."    And  here  the  Pre- 
fect, producing  a  memorandum-book, 
proceeded  to  read  aloud  a  minute  ac- 
count of  the  internal,  and  especially  of 
the  external,  appearance  of  the  miss- 
ing document.     Soon   after  finishing 
the    perusal    of   this    description,    he 
took  his  departure,  more  entirely  de- 
pressed  in   spirits   than   I    had    ever 
known  the  good  gentleman  before. 

74.  In   about   a   month   afterwards 
he  paid  us  another  visit,  and  found 
us    occupied   very   nearly   as   before. 
He  took  a  pipe  and  a  chair,  and  enter- 
ed into  some  ordinary  conversation. 
At  length  I  said :       . 

75.  "  Well,  but  G ,  what  of  the 

purloined     letter?     I     presume     you 
have  at  last  made  up  your  mind  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  overreach- 
ing the  minister?" 

76.  "  Confound  him,  say  I  —  yes ;  I 
made  the  reexamination,  however,  as 
Dupin    suggested  —  but    it    was    all 
labor  lost,  as  I  knew  it  would  be." 


FIRST    DEDUCTION    REJECTED. 
THIRD  STAGE  OF  PLOT. 


Preparation  for  denouement. 


Attempt    to    mislead    reader. 


Note   the   patronizing   '*  good 
gentleman." 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


77.  "  How  much  was  the  reward  of- 
fered, did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Dupin. 

78.  "  Why,   a   very  great   deal  —  a 
very  liberal  reward  —  I  don't  like  to 
say    how    much    precisely ;    but    one 
thing  I  will  say,  that  I  wouldn't  mind 
giving  my  individual  check  for  fifty 
thousand    francs    to    any    one    who 
would    obtain    me    that    letter.    The 
fact  is,  it  is  becoming  of  more  and 
more  importance  every  day;  and  the 
reward  has  been  lately  doubled.     If 
it  were  trebled,  however,  I  could  do 
no  more  than  I  have  done." 

79.  "  Why,  yes,"  said  Dupin  drawl- 
ingly,  between  the  whiffs  of  his  meer- 
schaum,    "  I     really  —  think,     G , 

you   have   not   exerted  yourself  —  to 
the     utmost     in     this     matter.     You 
might  — do    a    little    more,    I    think, 
eh?" 

80.  "How?  — in  what  way?" 

81.  "Why    [puff,  puff],  you  might 
[puff,   puff]    employ    counsel    in    the 
matter,    eh?    [puff,    puff,    puff]     Do, 
you  remember  the  story  they  tell  of 
Abernethy  ?  " 

82.  "  No ;  hang  Abernethy !  " 

83.  "  To   be    sure !    hang   him   and 
welcome.    But  once  upon  a  time,  a 
certain  rich  miser  conceived  the  de- 
sign of  sponging  upon  this  Abernethy 
for  a  medical   opinion.     Getting  up, 
for  this  purpose,  an  ordinary  conver- 
sation in  a  private  company,  he  in- 
sinuated his  case  to  the  physician  as 
that  of  an  imaginary  individual. 

84.  " '  We   will   suppose/    said   the 
miser,  '  that  his   symptoms  are  such 


FOURTH  STAGE  OF  PLOT. 


Illustrative  anecdote  of  Dr. 
John  Abernethy,  the  Eng- 
lish surgeon. 


STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 


and  such;  now,  doctor,  what  would 
you  have  directed  him  to  take  ?  " 

85.  "'Take!'       said       Abernethy, 
1  why,  take  advice,  to  be  sure.' " 

86.  "But,"  said  the  Prefect,  a  lit- 
tle discomposed,  "  I  am  perfectly  will- 
ing to  take  advice,  and  to  pay  for  it. 
I    would    really   give    fifty   thousand 
francs  to  any  one  who  would  aid  me 
in  the  matter.'* 

87.  "In  that  case,"  replied  Dupin, 
opening  a  drawer,  and  producing  a 
check-book,    "you    may    as    well    fill 
me  up  a  check  for  t^e  amount  men- 
tioned.    When  you  nave  signed  it,  I 
will  hand  you  the  letter." 

88.  I  was  astounded.    The  Prefect 
appeared   absolutely  thunderstricken. 
For     some     minutes     he     remained 
speechless    and    motionless,    looking 
incredulously  at  my  friend  with  open 
mouth,  and  eyes  that  seemed  start- 
ing   from    their    sockets ;    then,    ap- 
parently recovering  himself  in  some 
measure,  he  seized  a  pen,  and  after 
several    pauses    and    vacant    stares, 
finally  filled  up  and  signed  a  check 
for  fifty  thousand  francs,  and  hand- 
ed   it    across    the    table    to    Dupin. 
The  latter  examined  it  carefully  and 
deposited  it  in  his  pocket;  then,  un- 
locking an  escritoire,  took  thence  a 
letter    and    gave   it   to    the    Prefect. 
This  functionary  grasped  it  in  a  per- 
fect agony  of  joy,  opened  it  with  a 
trembling  hand,  cast  a  rapid  glance 
at  its  contents,  and  then,  scrambling 
and  struggling  to  the  door,  rushed  at 
length     unceremoniously     from     the 


MINOR   CLIMAX. 


Character   delineation,. 


CLIMAX. 

The  plot  seems  to  end  here, 
for  long  reasoning  and 
explanation  follow.  There 
is,  however,  a  second  cli- 
max as  Dupin's  story 
reaches  its  denouement. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


room  and  from  the  house,  without 
having  uttered  a  syllable  since  Dupin 
had  requested  him  to  fill  up  the 
check. 

89.  When  he  had  gone,  my  friend 
entered  into  some  explanations. 

90.  "  The  Parisian  police,"  he  said, 
"are  exceedingly  able  in  their  way. 
They  are  persevering,  ingenious,  cun- 
ning, and   thoroughly  versed  in  the 
knowledge   which   their  duties   seem 
chiefly     to      demand.    Thus,     when 

G -detailed    to    us    his    mode    of 

searching  the  premises  at  the  Hotel 

D ,  1  felt  entire  confidence  in  his 

having  made  a  satisfactory  investiga- 
tion —  so  far  as  his  labors  extended." 

91.  "  So  far  as  his  labors  extend- 
ed? "  said  I. 

92.  "  Yes,-"       said       Dupin.     "  The 
measures  adopted  were  not  only  the 
best  of  their  kind,  but  carried  out  to 
absolute   perfection.     Had   the   letter 
been   deposited   within   the  range  of 
their  search,  these  fellows  would,  be- 
yond a  question,  have  found  it." 

93.  I     merely     laughed,     but     he 
seemed  quite  serious  in  all  that  he 
said. 

94.  "  The  measures,  then,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  were  good  in  their  kind,  and 
well    executed;    their    defect    lay    in 
their  being  inapplicable  to  the  case, 
and   to   the   man.    A   certain  set   of 
highly  ingenious  resources  are,  with 
the    Prefect,    a    sort    of   Procrustean 
bed  to  which  he  forcibly  adapts  his 
designs.     But  he  perpetually  errs  by 
being  too   deep   or   too   shallow   for 


FIRST  STAGE  OF  DUPIN'S 
ACCOUNT.  This  account 
places  Dupin's  methods  in 
artistic  contrast  with  those 
of  the  Prefect 


Not  a  precise  statement. 


92 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


the  matter  in  hand ;  and  many  a 
schoolboy  is  a  better  reasoner  than 
he.  I  knew  one  about  eight  years  of 
age,  whose  success  at  guessing  in  the 
game  of  '  even  and  odd '  attracted 
universal  admiration.  This  game  is 
simple,  and  is  played  with  marbles. 
One  player  holds  in  his  hand  a  num- 
ber of  these  toys,  and  demands  of  an- 
other whether  that  number  is  even  or 
odd.  If  the  guess  is  right,  the  guess- 
er  wins  one ;  if  wrong,  he  loses  one. 
The  boy  to  whom  I  allude  won  all  the 
marbles  of  the  school.  Of  course  he 
had  some  principle  of  guessing;  and 
this  lay  in  mere  observation  and  ad- 
measurement of  the  astuteness  of  his 
opponents.  For  example  an  arrant 
simpleton  is  his  opponent,  and,  hold- 
ing up  his  closed  hand  asks, '  Are  they 
even  or  odd  ? '  Our  schoolboy  re- 
plies, '  Odd,'  and  loses ;  but  upon  the 
second  trial  he  wins,  for  he  then  says 
to  himself,  '  The  simpleton  had  them 
even  upon  the  first  trial,  and  his 
amount  of  cunning  is  just  sufficient  to 
make  him  have  them  odd  upon  the 
second ;  I  will  therefore  guess  odd ; ' 
he  guesses  odd,  and  wins.  Now,  with 
a  simpleton  a  degree  above  the  first, 
he  would  have  reasoned  thus:  'This 
fellow  finds  that  in  the  first  instance 
I  guessed  odd,  and  in  the  second  he 
will  propose  to  himself,  upon  the  first 
impulse,  a  simple  variation  from  even 
to  odd,  as  did  the  first  simpleton ;  but 
then  a  second  thought  will  suggest 
that  this  is  too  simple  a  variation, 
and  finally  he  will  decide  upon  put- 


Illustrative  anecdote. 


Joint  inductive-deductive 

method  of  reasoning. 


Inductive    reasoning. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY   AND   FANTASY 


93 


ting  it  even  as  before.  I  will  there- 
fore guess  even ; '  he  guesses  even, 
and  wins.  Now  this  mode  of  reason- 
ing in  the  schoolboy,  whom  his  fel- 
lows term  '  lucky  ' —  what,  in  its  last 
analysis,  is  it?" 

95.  "It    is    merely,"    I    said,    "an 
identification  of  the  reasoner's  intel- 
lect with  that  of  his  opponent." 

96.  "It  is,"  said  Dupin;  "and,  upon 
inquiring  of  the  boy  by  what  means 
he  effected  the  thorough  identification 
in  which  his  success  consisted,  I  re- 
ceived answer  as  follows :  '  When  I 
wish  to  find  out  how  wise,  or  how 
stupid,  or  how  good,  or  how  wicked 
is  any  one,  or  what  are  his  thoughts 
at  the  moment,  I  fashion  the  expres- 
sion of  my  face,  as  accurately  as  pos- 
sible, in  accordance  with  the  expres- 
sion of  his,  and  then  wait  to  see  what 
thoughts  or  sentiments   arise  in  my 
mind  or  heart,  as  if  to  match  or  cor- 
respond  with   the  expression.'    This 
response  of  the  schoolboy  lies  at  the 
bottom  of  all  the  spurious  profundity 
which  has  been  attributed  to  Roche- 
foucauld, to  La  Bruyere,  to  Machia- 
velli,  and  to  Campanella." 

97.  "  And     the     identification,"     I 
said     "of     the     reasoner's     intellect 
with  that  of  his  opponent's,  depends, 
if  I  understand  you  aright,  upon  the 
accuracy  with  which   the  opponent's 
intellect  is  admeasured." 

98.  "  For  its  practical  value  It  de- 
pends    upon     this,"     replied     Dupin, 
"and  the  Prefect  and  his  cohort  fail 
so  frequently,  first,  by  default  of  this 


Reduced  to  untechnical  lan- 
guage. 


Compare  with  Barrie's  state 
merit    on    p.    217. 


I  and  2,  French  authors 
and  moralists;  3,  astute 
Italian  statesman;  4,  Ital- 
ian thinker. 


Analysis. 

Observe  how  fond  Poe  is  of 
long  paragraphs. 


94 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


identification,  and  secondly,  by  ill-ad- 
measurement, or  rather  through  non- 
admeasurement,  of  the  intellect  with 
which  they  are  engaged.  They  con- 
sider only  their  own  ideas  of  inge- 
nuity; and,  in  searching  for  anything 
hidden,  advert  only  to  the  modes  in 
which  they  would  have  hidden  it. 
They  are  right  in  this  much  —  that 
their  own  ingenuity  is  a  faithful  rep- 
resentative of  that  of  the  mass;  but 
when  the  cunning  of  the  individual 
felon  is  diverse  in  character  from 
their  own,  the  felon  foils  them,  of 
course.  This  always  happens  when 
it  is  above  their  own,  and  very  usually 
when  it  is  below.  They  have  no 
variation  of  principle  in  their  investi- 
gations ;  at  best,  when  urged  by  some 
unusual  emergency,  by  some  extraor- 
dinary reward,  they  extend  or  ex- 
aggerate their  old  modes  of  practice, 
without  touching  their  principles. 
What,  for  example,  in  this  case  of 

D ,    has   been   done   to   vary   the 

principle  of  action?  What  is  all  this 
boring,  and  probing,  and  sounding, 
and  scrutinizing  with  the  microscope, 
and  dividing  the  surface  of  the  build- 
ing into  registered  square  inches  — 
what  is  it  all  but  an  exaggeration  of 
the  application  of  the  one  principle  or 
set  of  principles  of  search,  which  are 
based  upon  the  one  set  of  notions 
regarding  human  ingenuity,  to  which 
the  Prefect,  in  the  long  routine  of  his 
duty,  has  been  accustomed  ?  Do  you 
not  see  he  has  taken  it  for  granted 
that  all  men  proceed  to  conceal  a  let- 


Astute  comment. 


Note     the     length 
paragraph. 


of     this 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


95 


ter  —  not  exactly  in  a  gimlet-hole 
bored  in  a  chair  leg  —  but,  at  least, 
in  some  out  of  the  way  hole  or 
corner  suggested  by  the  same  tenor 
of  thought  which  would  urge  a 
man  to  secrete  a  letter  in  a  gimlet- 
hole  bored  in  a  chair  leg?  And 
do  you  not  see,  also,  that  such 
recherchcs  nooks  for  concealment 
are  adapted  only  for  ordinary  occa- 
sions and  would  be  adopted  only  by 
ordinary  intellects;  for,  in  alt  cases 
of  concealment,  a  disposal  of  the  ar- 
ticle concealed  —  a  disposal  of  it  in 
this  recherche  manner  —  is,  in  the 
very  first  instance,  presumable  and 
presumed ;  and  thus  its  discovery  de- 
pends, not  at  all  upon  the  acumen,  but 
altogether  upon  the  mere  care,  pa- 
tience, and  determination  of  the  seek- 
ers ;  and  where  the  case  is  of  im- 
portance —  or,  what  amounts  to  the 
same  thing  in  policial  eyes,  when 
the  reward  is  of  magnitude  —  the 
qualities  in  question  have  never  been 
known  to  fail.  You  will  now  under- 
stand what  I  meant  in  suggesting 
that,  had  the  purloined  letter  been 
hidden  anywhere  within  the  limits  of 
the  Prefect's  examination  —  in  other 
words,  had  the  principle  of  its  con- 
cealment been  comprehended  within 
the  principles  of  the  Prefect,  its  dis- 
covery would  have  been  a  matter  al- 
together beyond  question.  This  func- 
tionary, however,  has  been  thoroughly 
mystified;  and  the  remote  source  of 
his  defeat  lies  in  the  supposition  that 
the  minister  is  a  fool  because  he  has 


A    cumbersomely    long    sen- 
tence. 

Recherches  —  carefully 
sought  out. 


Note  force   of  "  hidden.' 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


acquired  renown  as  a  poet.  All  fools 
are  poets ;  this  the  Prefect  feels;  and 
he  is  merely  guilty  of  a  non  distri- 
butio  medii  in  thence  inferring  that  all 
poets  are  fools." 

99.  "But  is  this  really  the  poet?" 
I  asked.     "  There  are  two  brothers,  I 
know ;  and  both  have  attained  reputa- 
tion in  letters.    The  minister,  I  be- 
lieve,  has   written   learnedly  on   the 
Differential  Calculus.    He  is  a  mathe- 
matician and  no  poet." 

100.  "You  are   mistaken;   I   know 
him  well;  he  is  both.    As  poet  and 
mathematician  he  would  reason  well; 
as  mere  mathematician  he  could  not 
have  reasoned  at  all,  and  thus  would 
have  been  at  the  mercy  of  the  Pre- 
fect." 

101.  "You    surprise    me,"    I    said, 
"  by  these  opinions,  which  have  been 
contradicted    by    the    voice    of    the 
world.     You  do  not  mean  to  set  at 
naught    the     well-digested     idea    of 
centuries.    The  mathematical  reason 
has  long  been  regarded  as   the  rea- 
son par  excellence." 

102.  "'11    ya    a    parier,'"    replied 
Dupin,      quoting      from      Chamfort, 
"'  que  toute  idee  publique,  toute  con- 
vention reque,  est  une  sottise,  car  elle 
a  convenue  au  plus  grand  nombre.' 
The    mathematicians,    I    grant    you, 
have  done  their  best  to  promulgate 
the  popular  error  to  which  you  al- 
lude, and  which  is  none  the  less  an 
error  for  its  promulgation  as  truth. 
With  an  art  worthy  a  better  cause, 
for  example,  they  have  insinuated  the 


"  The  undistributed  mid- 
dle "  is  a  form  of  logical 
fallacy. 

Note  the  following  series  of 
unusual  statements. 


It  may  be  said  that  every 
public  idea,  every  received 
convention,  is  a  niece  of 
stupidity,  for  it  has  suit- 
ed the  greater  number." 
—  NICOLAS  CHAMFORT. 


This  whole  section  of  the 
story  triumphs  notwith- 
standing its  undue  length 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY   AND    FANTASY 


97 


term  '  analysis '  into  application  to 
algebra.  The  French  are  the  origi- 
nators of  this  practical  deception  ;  but 
if  a  term  is  of  any  importance  —  if 
words  derive  any  value  from  ap- 
plicability —  then  *  analysis  '  conveys 
'algebra/  about  as  much  as,  in 
Latin,  'ambitus'  implies  'ambition/ 
'religio,'  'religion/  or  'homines  hon- 
esti'  a  set  of  honorable  men." 

103.  "  You  have  a  quarrel  on  hand, 
I    see,"   said   I,   "with   some   of  the 
algebraists  of  Paris;  but  proceed." 

104.  "  I  dispute  the  availability,  and 
thus  the  value  of  that  reason  which 
is  cultivated  in  any  especial  form  oth- 
er than  the  abstractly  logical.    I  dis- 
pute, in  particular,  the  reason  educed 
by  mathematical  study.    The  mathe- 
matics are  the  science  of  form  and 
quantity ;   mathematical   reasoning  is 
merely   logic   applied   to   observation 
upon  form  and  quantity.    The  great 
error  lies  in  supposing  that  even  the 
truths  of  what  is  called  pure  algebra 
are  abstract  or  general  truths.    And 
this  error  is  so  egregious  that  I  am 
confounded  at  the   universality  with 
which  it  has  been  received.    Mathe- 
matical   axioms    are    not   axioms    of 
general  truth.    What  is  true  of  re- 
lation—  of    form    and    quantity  —  is 
often    grossly    false     in    regard    to 
morals,  for  example.    In  this  latter 
science  it  is  very  usually  wwtrue  that 
the  aggregated  parts  are  equal  to  the 
whole.    In  chemistry,  also,  the  axiom 
fails.     In  the  consideration  of  motive 
it  fails;  for  two  motives,  each  of  a 


of  learned  discussion  and 
its  formal  diction.  It 
must  be  admitted  that  in 
these  respects  the  present 
day  short  story  is  in  ad- 
vance of  Poe.  A  number 
of  paragraphs  here  fail  to 
advance  the  narration  as 
fiction. 


Unusual  form.  Throughout, 
note  Poe's  unusual  choice 
of  words. 


As  a  piece  of  pure  reason- 
ing this  long  treatise  is 
not  without  its  defects. 


98 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


given  value,  have  not,  necessarily,  a 
value  when  united  equal  to  the  sum 
of  their  values  apart.  There  are 
numerous  other  mathematical  truths 
which  are  only  truths  within  the 
limits  of  relation.  But  the  mathe- 
matician argues,  from  his  finite 
truths,  through  habit,  as  if  they 
were  of  an  absolutely  general  ap- 
plicability—  as  the  world  indeed 
imagines  them  to  be.  Bryant,  in  his 
very  learned  '  Mythology/  mentions 
an  analogous  source  of  error,  when 
he  says  that  'although  the  Pagan 
fables  are  not  believed,  yet  we  forget 
ourselves  continually,  and  make  in- 
ferences from  them  as  existing  reali- 
ties.' With  the  algebraists,  however, 
who  are  Pagans  themselves,  the 
'  Pagan  fables '  are  believed  and  the 
inferences  are  made,  not  so  much 
through  lapse  of  memory  as  through 
an  unaccountable  addling  of  the 
brains.  In  short,  I  never  yet  en- 
countered the  mere  mathematician 
who  could  be  trusted  out  of  equal 
roots,  or  one  who  did  not  clandes- 
tinely hold  it  as  a  point  of  his  faith 
that  x2  -\-px  was  absolutely  and  un- 
conditionally equal  to  q.  Say  to  one 
of  these  gentlemen,  by  way  of  ex- 
periment, if  you  please,  that  you  be- 
lieve occasions  may  occur  where 
x2  +px  is  not  altogether  equal  to  q, 
and,  having  made  him  understand 
what  you  mean,  get  out  of  his  reach 
as  speedily  as  convenient,  for  be- 
yond doubt  he  will  endeavor  to 
knock  you  down. 


but  it  does  bring  out  — 
though  too  laboriously  to 
please  —  the  point  at 
which  Dupin  is  driving. 


Jacob   Bryant. 


He  speaks  figuratively. 


A  striking  satire. 


More  satire. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


99 


105.  "  I  mean  to  say,"  continued  Du- 
pin,  while  I  merely  laughed  at  his 
last  observations,  "  that  if  the  minis- 
ter had  been  no  more  than  a  mathe- 
matician the  Prefect  would  have  been 
under  no  necessity  of  giving  me  this 
check.  I  knew  him,  however,  as  both 
mathematician  and  poet,  and  my 
measures  were  adapted  to  his  capac- 
ity with  reference  to  the  circum- 
stances by  which  he  was  surrounded. 
I  knew  him  as  courtier,  too,  and  as 
a  bold  intriguant.  Such  a  man,  I 
considered,  could  not  fail  to  be  aware 
of  the  ordinary  policial  modes  of 
action.  He  could  not  have  failed  to 
anticipate  —  and  events  have  proved 
that  he  did  not  fail  to  anticipate  — 
the  waylayings  to  which  he  was  sub- 
jected. He  must  have  foreseen,  I 
reflected,  the  secret  investigations  of 
his  premises.  His  frequent  absences 
from  home  at  night,  which  were  hail- 
ed by  the  Prefect  as  certain  aids  to  his 
success,  I  regarded  only  as  ruses,  to 
afford  opportunity  for  thorough 
search  to  the  police,  and  thus  the 
sooner  to  impress  them  with  the 

conviction   to   which   G ,   in   fact, 

did  finally  arrive  —  the  conviction 
that  the  letter  was  not  upon  the 
premises.  I  felt,  also,  that  the  whole 
train  of  thought,  which  I  was  at  some 
pains  in  detailing  to  you  just  now, 
concerning  the  invariable  principle  of 
policial  action  in  searches  for  articles 
concealed  — I  felt  that  this  whole 
train  of  thought  would  necessarily 
pass  through  the  mind  of  the  minis- 


Note  the   force  of  "  last." 


A  return  from  the  special 
argument  to  the  practical. 

Application  of  the  foregoing 
principles. 


A    difficult    point    explained. 


Note    the    unusual    use    of 
"to,"   instead   of   "at." 


Is  this  probable? 


100 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


Key.     Compare    H    10. 


ter.  It  would  imperatively  lead  him 
to  despise  all  the  ordinary  nooks  of 
concealment.  He  could  not,  I  re-  Compare  fl  95. 
fleeted,  be  so  weak  as  not  to  see  that 
the  most  intricate  and  remote  recess 
of  his  hotel  would  be  as  open  as  his 
commonest  closets  to  the  eyes,  to  the 
probes,  to  the  gimlets,  and  to  the 
microscopes  of  the  Prefect.  I  saw, 
in  fine,  that  he  would  be  driven,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  to  simplicity,  if  not 
deliberately  induced  to  it  as  a  mat- 
ter of  choice.  You  will  remember, 
perhaps,  how  desperately  the  Prefect 
laughed  when  I  suggested,  upon  our 
first  interview,  that  it  was  just  pos- 
sible this  mystery  troubled  him  so 
much  on  account  of  its  being  so 
very  self-evident." 

1 06.  "Yes,"    said   I,   "I   remember 
his  merriment  well.     I  really  thought 
he    would   have    fallen    into    convul- 
sions." 

107.  "The    material    world,"    con- 
tinued   Dupin,    "abounds   with    very 
strict    analogies    to    the    immaterial; 
and    thus    some    color   of   truth   has 
been  given  to  the  rhetorical  dogma, 
that    metaphor,    or    simile,    may    be 
made  to  strengthen  an  argument,  as 
well    as   to    embellish   a   description. 

The  principle  of  the  vis  inertia:,  for  Force  of  inertia, 
example,  seems  to  be  identical  in 
physics  and  metaphysics.  It  is  not 
more  true  in  the  former,  that  a  large 
body  is  with  more  difficulty  set  in 
motion  than  a  smaller  one,  and  that  its 
subsequent  momentum  is  commen- 
surate with  this  difficulty,  than  it 


A    return    to    philosophising. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  ANi}   FANTASY 


IOI 


is,  in  the  latter,  that  intellects  of  the 
vaster  capacity,  while  more  forcible, 
more  constant,  and  more  eventful  in 
their  movements  than  those  of  in- 
ferior grade,  are  yet  the  less  readily 
moved,  and  more  embarrassed  and 
full  of  hesitation  in  the  first  few  steps 
of  their  progress.  Again:  have  you 
ever  noticed  which  of  the  street  signs 
over  the  shop  doors  are  the  most 
attractive  of  attention?" 

108.  "  I  have  never  given  the  mat- 
ter a  thought,"  I  said. 

109.  "  There  is  a  game  of  puzzles," 
he  resumed,  "  which  is  played  upon  a 
map.     One  party  playing  requires  an- 
other   to    find    a    given    word  —  the 
name  of  town,  river,  state,  or  empire 
—  any  word,  in  short,  upon  the  mot- 
ley   and    perplexed    surface    of    the 
chart.    A  novice  in  the  game  general- 
ly seeks  to  embarrass  his  opponents 
by   giving   them   the    most   minutely 
lettered  names;  but  the  adept  selects 
such  words  as  stretch  in  large  char- 
acters from  one  end  of  the  chart  to 
the    other.    These,    like    the    over- 
largely  lettered  signs  and  placards  of 
the  street,  escape  observation  by  dint 
of    being    excessively    obvious;    and 
here  the  physical  oversight  is  precise- 
ly  analogous   with   the   moral   inap- 
prehension  by  which  the  intellect  suf- 
fers   to    pass    unnoticed    those    con- 
siderations which  are  too  obtrusively 
and    too   palpably    self-evident.    But 
this  is  a  point,  it  appears,  somewhat 
above  or  beneath  the  understanding 
of     the     Prefect.    He     never     once 


This  inquiry  is  the  heart  of 
the  inference. 


Illustrative   example. 


Note   the    diction. 


Compare  ff  94  and  fl  98. 


102 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


thought  it  probable,  or  possible,  that 
the  minister  had  deposited  the  letter 
immediately  beneath  the  nose  of  the 
whole  world,  by  way  of  best  prevent- 
ing any  portion  of  that  world  from 
perceiving  it. 

no.  "But  the  more  I  reflected  up- 
on the  daring,  dashing,  and  dis- 
criminating ingenuity  of  D ;  upon 

the  fact  that  the  document  must  al- 
ways have  been  at  hand,  if  he  intend- 
ed to  use  it  to  good  purpose;  and 
upon  the  decisive  evidence,  obtained 
by  the  Prefect,  that  it  was  not  hidden 
within  the  limits  of  that  dignitary's 
ordinary  search  —  the  more  satisfied 
I  became  that,  to  conceal  this  letter, 
the  minister  had  resorted  to  the  com- 
prehensive and  sagacious  expedient 
of  not  attempting  to  conceal  it  at  all. 

in.  "Full  of  these  ideas,  I  pre- 
pared myself  with  a  pair  of  green 
spectacles,  and  called  one  fine  morn- 
ing, quite  by  accident,  at  the  ministe- 
rial hotel.  I  found  D at  home, 

yawning,  lounging,  and  dawdling,  as 
usual,  and  pretending  to  be  in  the 
last  extremity  of  ennui.  He  is,  per- 
haps, the  most  really  energetic  human 
being  now  alive  —  but  that  is  only 
when  nobody  sees  him. 

112.  "To  be  even  with  him,  I  com- 
plained of  my  weak  eyes,  and  lament- 
ed the  necessity  of  the  spectacles,  un- 
der cover  of  which  I  cautiously  and 
thoroughly  surveyed  the  whole  apart- 
ment,   while    seemingly    intent    only 
upon  the  conversation  of  my  host. 

113.  "I   paid  especial  attention  to 


Summary  of  "  accusation " 
against  the  Prefect's  sa- 
gacity. 


Note  the  alliteration. 


Climax  of  Dupin's  infer- 
ential reasoning. 

BEGINNING    OF    REAL    PLOT. 

INCIDENT  OF  DUPIN'S  STORY. 

From  this  point  the  narra- 
tion is  free  from  the 
formalities  of  expression 
which  mar  the  central 
section  of  the  story. 
These,  however,  were  a 
characteristic  of  Poe  and 
his  era. 

Note  the  use  of  "  now." 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


103 


a  large  writing-table  near  which  he 
sat,  and  upon  which  lay  confusedly 
some  miscellaneous  letters  and  other 
papers,  with  one  or  two  musical  in- 
struments and  a  few  books.  Here, 
however,  after  a  long  and  very  de- 
liberate scrutiny,  I  saw  nothing  to 
excite  particular  suspicion. 

114.  "At  length  my  eyes,  in  going 
the  circuit  of  the  room,  fell  upon  a 
trumpery  filigree  card-rack  of  paste- 
board, that  hung  dangling,  by  a  dirty 
blue  ribbon,  from  a  little  brass  knob 
just  beneath  the  middle  of  the  mantel- 
piece.   In  this  rack,  which  had  three 
or  four  compartments,  were  five  or 
six  visiting  cards  and  a  solitary  let- 
ter.    This  last  was  much  soiled  and 
crumpled.    It  was  torn  nearly  in  two, 
across  the  middle  —  as   if  a   design, 
in  the  first  instance,  to  tear  it  entirely 
up  as  worthless  had  been  altered,  or 
stayed,  in  the  second.     It  had  a  large 

black  seal,  bearing  the  D cipher 

very  conspicuously,  and  was  address- 
ed, in  a  diminutive  female  hand,  to 

D ,  the  minister  himself.     It  was 

thrust  carelessly,  and  even,  as  it  seem- 
ed, contemptuously,  into  one  of  the 
uppermost  divisions  of  the  rack. 

115.  "No  sooner  had  I  glanced  at 
this  letter  than  I  concluded  it  to  be 
that  of  which  I  was  in  search.     To 
be   sure,   it   was,   to   all   appearance, 
radically   different   from  the   one   of 
which   the   Prefect  had   read    us   so 
minute  a  description.    Here  the  seal 

was  large  and  black,  with  the  D 

cipher;   there  it  was  small  and  red, 


Dupin's  reasoning   sustained, 


Throughout,  Poe  used  punc- 
tuation more  freely  than 
is  now  the  custom. 


104 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


with   the    ducal    arms    of  the    S 

family.  Here  the  address,  to  the 
minister,  was  diminutive  and  femi- 
nine; there,  the  superscription,  to  a 
certain  royal  personage,  was  mark- 
edly bold  and  decided;  the  size  alone 
formed  a  point  of  correspondence. 
But,  then,  the  radicalness  of  these 
differences,  which  was  excessive ;  the 
dirt,  the  soiled  and  torn  condition  of 
the  paper,  so  inconsistent  with  the 

true  methodical  habits  of  D ,  and 

so  suggestive  of  a  design  to  delude 
the  beholder  into  an  idea  of  the 
worthlessness  of  the  document ;  these 
things,  together  with  the  hyper-obtru- 
sive situation  of  this  document,  full 
in  the  view  of  every  visitor,  and  thus 
exactly  in  accordance  with  the  con- 
clusions to  which  I  had  previously 
arrived;  these  things,  I  say,  were 
strongly  corroborative  of  suspicion, 
in  one  who  came  with  the  intention 
to  suspect. 

116.  "I  protracted  my  visit  as  long 
as  possible,  and  while  I  maintained 
a  most  animated  discussion  with  the 
minister,  upon  a  topic  which  I  knew 
well  had  never  failed  to  interest  and 
excite  him,  I  kept  my  attention  real- 
ly riveted  upon  the  letter.  In  this 
examination,  I  committed  to  mem- 
ory its  external  appearance  and  ar- 
rangement in  the  rack;  and  also  fell, 
at  length,  upon  a  discovery  which  set 
at  rest  whatever  trivial  doubt  I  might 
have  entertained.  In  scrutinizing  the 
edges  of  the  paper,  I  observed  them 
to  be  more  chafed  than  seemed  nee- 


It  was  the  custom  in  earlier 
times  simply  to  fold  a 
letter,  seal  it  with  a  wafer, 
and  address  it  on  the  back, 
which  was  allowed  to  re- 
main otherwise  blank, 
This  accounts  for  there 
being  no  reference  to  an 
envelope,  and  also  fot 
the  refolding  of  the  letter. 


STORIES  OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


105 


essary.  They  presented  the  broken 
appearance  which  is  manifested  when 
a  stiff  paper,  having  been  once  folded 
and  pressed  with  a  folder,  is  refolded 
in  a  reversed  direction,  in  the  same 
creases  or  edges  which  had  formed 
the  original  fold.  This  discovery 
was  sufficient.  It  was  clear  to  me 
that  the  letter  had  been  turned,  as  a 
glove,  inside  out,  re-directed,  and  re- 
sealed.  I  bade  the  minister  good- 
morning,  and  took  my  departure  at 
once,  leaving  a  gold  snuff-box  upon 
the  table. 

117.  "The  next  morning  I  called 
for  the  snuff-box,  when  we  resumed, 
quite  eagerly,  the  conversation  of  the 
preceding  day.    While  thus  engaged, 
however,  a  loud  report,  as  if  of  a 
pistol,    was    heard    immediately    be- 
neath the  windows  of  the  hotel,  and 
was  succeeded  by  a  series  of  fearful 
screams,  and  the  shoutings  of  a  mob. 

D rushed  to  a  casement,  threw 

it    open,    and    looked    out.    In    the 
meantime,  I  stepped  to  the  card-rack, 
took  the  letter,  put  it  in  my  pocket, 
and  replaced  it  by  a  facsimile  (so  far 
as   regards   externals)    which    I   had 
carefully  prepared  at  my  lodgings  — 

imitating     the     D cipher     very 

readily  by  means  of  a  seal  formed  of 
bread. 

118.  "The  disturbance  in  the  street 
had  been   occasioned  by  the   frantic 
behavior  of  a  man  with   a  musket. 
He  had  fired  it  among  a  crowd  of 
women     and     children.     It     proved, 
however,  to  have  been  without  ball, 


Note  use  of  "  fold 
derivatives. 


and  its 


A  good  device. 


APPARENT  FULL  CLIMAX- 


Concluding    explanations. 

Note  how  the  climax  o* 
Dupin's  story  also  serves 
as  the  climax  of  the  Pre- 
fect's earlier  statement  of 
the  problem  and  his  ef- 
forts to  solve  it. 


io6 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


and  the  fellow  was  suffered  to  go  his 
way  as  a  lunatic  or  a  drunkard. 

When  he  had  gone,  D came  from 

the  window,  whither  I  had  followed 
him  immediately  upon  securing  the 
object  in  view.  Soon  afterwards  I 
bade  him  farewell.  The  pretended 
lunatic  was  a  man  in  my  own  pay." 

119.  "But  what  purpose  had  you," 
I  asked,  "  in  replacing  the  letter  by  a 
facsimile?    Would  it  not  have  been 
better,  at  the  first  visit,  to  have  seiz- 
ed it  openly  and  departed  ?  " 

120.  "  D ,"  replied  Dupin,  "  is  a 

desperate  man,  and  a  man  of  nerve. 
His  hotel,  too,  is  not  without  attend- 
ants devoted  to  his  interest.    Had  I 
made  the  wild  attempt  you  suggest  I 
might  never  have  left  the  ministerial 
presence  alive.    The  good  people  of 
Paris   might   have   heard    of  me   no 
more.     But   I    had    an   object    apart 
from       these       considerations.    You 
know     my     political     prepossessions. 
In  this  matter  I  act  as  a  partisan  of 
the    lady    concerned.    For    eighteen 
months  the  minister  has  had  her  in 
his  power.     She  has  now  him  in  hers 
—  since,  being  unaware  that  the  let- 
ter is  not  in  his  possession,  he  will 
proceed   with  his   exactions   as   if  it 
was.    Thus   will  he   inevitably   com- 
mit  himself  at  once  to  his  political 
destruction.    His  downfall,  too,  will 
not   be   more   precipitate   than   awk- 
ward.    It    is    all    very   well    to    talk 
about   the   facilis   descensus  Averni; 
but    in    all    kinds    of    climbing,    as 
Catalani    said    of   singing,    it    is    far 


In  the  interest  in  Dupin's 
reasoning  and  its  results 
we  have  lost  sight  of  the 
real  importance  of  the 
letter. 


Is   "was"   correct? 


The  descent  to  Avernus  (the 
fabled  entrance  to  the 
Infernal  Regions)  is  easy. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY   AND   FANTASY 


107 


more  easy  to  get  up  than  to  come 
down.  In  the  present  instance  I 
have  no  sympathy  —  at  least  no  pity 
—  for  him  who  descends.  He  is  that 
monstrum  horrendum,  an  unprin- 
cipled man  of  genius.  I  confess, 
however,  that  I  should  like  very  well 
to  know  the  precise  character  of  his 
thoughts,  when,  being  defied  by  her 
whom  the  Prefect  terms  'a  certain 
personage/  he  is  reduced  to  opening 
the  letter  which  I  left  for  him  in  the 
card-rack." 

121  "How?  Did  you  put  anything 
particular  in  it?" 

122.  "  Why,  it  did  not  seem  alto- 
gether right  to  leave  the  interior 
blank  —  that  would  have  been  insult- 

jng.  D ,  at  Vienna,  once  did 

me  an  evil  turn,  which  I  told  him, 
quite  good-humoredly,  I  should  re- 
member. So,  as  I  knew  he  would 
feel  some  curiosity  in  regard  to  the 
identity  of  the  person  who  had  out- 
witted him,  I  thought  it  a  pity  not 
to  give  him  a  clew.  He  is  well  ac- 
quainted with  my  MS.,  and  I  just 
copied  into  the  middle  of  the  blank 
sheet  the  words  :  — 


Monster  to  be  shuddered  at. 


REAL  .CLIMAX. 


' Un   dessein   si  funeste, 

S'il  n'est  digne  d'Atree,  est  digne  de 
Thyeste.' 

They  are  to  be  found  in  Crebillon's 
'  Atree.' " 


A  design  so  baleful,  if  not. 
worthy  of  Atreus,  is  wor- 
thy of  Thyestes. 


IO8  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

JACOBS  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

William  Wymark  Jacobs  was  born  in  London,  Sep- 
tember 8,  1863,  the  son  of  William  Gage  Jacobs.  He 
was  educated  at  private  schools,  and  entered  the  employ 
of  the  Post  Office  Savings  Bank  at  sixteen.  Four  years 
later  he  secured  a  regular  clerkship  there.  He  began  his 
literary  career  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  with  a  contribu- 
tion to  the  Blackfriars  Magazine,  a  publication  conducted 
by  the  clerks  at  the  Post  Office,  and  from  that  he  was 
led  to  contributing  articles  to  various  London  papers, 
though  he  retained  his  Civil  Service  position  until  1899. 
His  remarkable  acquaintance  with  nautical  subjects,  and 
characters  of  the  coasting  trade  and  seaport  wharves, 
was  acquired  during  several  years  spent  in  Wapping, 
while  his  father  was  wharfinger  there,  as  during  that 
period  the  younger  Jacobs  was  brought  into  contact  with 
many  seamen  and  wharf  hands,  and  came  to  know  many 
of  them  very  well.  In  1900  he  married  Agnes  Eleanor 
Williams.  Some  of  Jacobs'  most  popular  collections  of 
stories  are  Many  Cargoes;  More  Cargoes;  Short  Cruises; 
Odd  Craft;  Captains  All;  Light  Freights;  and  The  Lady 
of  the  Barge.  His  longer  stories  include  A  Master  of 
Craft,  Dialstone  Lane;  Salthaven,  and  At  Sunwich  Port. 

Mr.  Jacobs  is  known  mostly  by  his  delightfully  quaint 
and  humorous  character  delineations  of  river,  shore,  and 
sea-faring  folk.  The  remarkable  short-story  given  here- 
with, however,  is  of  a  very  different  sort  and  discloses  a 
mastery  of  the  weird,  of  the  supernatural,  which  is  not 
surpassed  in  the  whole  short-story  field.  With  a  sureness 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY  IOO, 

of  character-drawing  which  is  nothing  short  of  amazing 
in  a  humorist,  he  outlines  scene  and  actors,  and  when 
the  crises  are  reached  —  so  completely  is  all  visualized  - 
we  are  able  to  infer  the  swift-moving  climax  with  scarce 
the  need  of  a  word.  "  The  Monkey's  Paw  "  is  one  of 
the  most  dramatically  poignant  stories  of  the  super- 
natural ever  written,  and  invites  us  to  a  closer  study  of 
its  gifted  and  versatile  author. 

It  [a  sea-life]  is  a  man's  life  It  teaches  self-restraint  and 
discipline  and  the  art  of  governing  men.  It  is  a  fine,  healthy 
life  that  breeds  men.  All  that  I  mean  to  say  is  that  distance 
lends  enchantment  to  the  view,  and  that  the  essential  romance 
and  comedy  of  the  life  of  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships  are  intensified  in  the  perspective  of  years. —  W.  W.  JACOBS, 
London  Daily  Chronicle. 

Londoners,  in  particular,  should  hail  him  with  applause,  for 
he  has  done  more  than  make  them  laugh ;  he  has  added  character 
to  their  river.  Henceforward  no  one  who  has  read  Many  Car- 
goes will  look  at  a  passing  barge  with  an  apathetic  gaze.  He 
will  see  before  him  not  merely  a  vehicle  of  porterage,  but  a  hot- 
bed of  liquorish  and  acceptable  sarcasm. —  Academy  (London). 

Mr.  Jacobs  has  two  great  gifts :  one  is  the  power  to  place  a 
simple-minded  man  in  a  corner,  excite  our  sympathies  for  him, 
magnify  his  embarrassments,  and  keep  us  engrossed  all  the  time. 
.  .  .  But  we  do  not  consider  that  herein  lies  Mr.  Jacobs's  special 
distinction.  ...  Jt  is  in  his  eye  for  character,  his  knowledge  of 
a  certain  kind  of  human  nature,  his  genius  for  the  little  touches, 
as  we  prefer  to  call  them,  that  Mr.  Jacobs  stands  out  so  notably. 
No  one  now  writing  can  manage  the  little  touches  as  Mr.  Jacobs 
can,  at  once  so  naturally,  so  truthfully,  so  usefully,  and  so  joy- 
ously. .  .  .  None  of  them  actually  helps  the  plot,  but  every  one 
of  them  is  so  much  added  to  the  characters  and  conditions  of 
the  story.—  IBID. 


110  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

We  cannot  think  of  any  other  books  with  which  to  compare 
Mr.  Jacobs's,  because  there  are  none  just  like  them.  To-day  a 
number  of  the  best  and  brightest  English  and  American  writers 
seem  to  be  getting  their  inspiration  from  the  sea.  .  .  .  Each  one 
of  these  has  his  own  particular  field,  and  in  presenting  the  hu- 
mour of  the  sailor's  life  and  environment  no  one  approaches  Mr. 
Jacobs.— BOOKMAN  (New  York). 

We  are  acquainted  with  one  pronounced  pessimist,  who  main- 
tains defiantly  and  aggressively  that  he  never  reads  anything  in 
the  nature  of  modern  fiction.  "  Except,  of  course,"  he  adds,  "  the 
short  stories  of  W.  W.  Jacobs,  which  certainly  make  me  laugh." 
.  .  .  We  are  inclined  to  believe  that  there  are  a  number  of  men 
who  are  of  the  same  mind  in  regard  to  the  work  of  Mr.  Jacobs. 
Yet  we  do  not  think  that  his  most  ardent  admirer,  after  having 
laid  aside  one  of  his  books  for  three  days,  would  be  able  to  give 
more  than  the  vaguest  description  of  the  tales  contained  therein. 
To  this  rule  there  are,  however,  several  exceptions.  "  The 
Monkey's  Paw,"  as  grewsome  a  story  as  has  appeared  for  years, 
was  one. —  IBID. 

FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON  JACOBS 

Sketch  of  W.  W.  Jacobs,  Current  Literature,  vol.  26, 
117;  His  Work,  Academy,  vol.  52,  496;  Living  Age, 
vol.  218,  366;  Strand,  vol.  16,  676;  W.  W.  Jacobs, 
Book  News,  vol.  19;  The  Little  Touches  (Review  of  A 
Master  of  Craft),  Academy,  vol.  59;  A  New  Humorist, 
Spectator,  vol.  78;  More  Cargoes  (Review),  Public 
Opinion,  vol.  25;  The  Skipper's  Wooing  (Review),  Sat- 
urday  Review,  vol.  84. 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY  III 

FOR  ANALYSIS 
THE  MONKEY'S  PAW » 

BY  W.    W.   JACOBS 

I 

Without,  the  night  was  cold  and 
wet,  but  in  the  small  parlour  of 
Laburnam  Villa  the  blinds  were 
drawn  and  the  fire  burned  brightly. 
Father  and  son  were  at  chess,  the 
former,  who  possessed  ideas  about 
the  game  involving  radical  changes, 
putting  his  king  into  such  sharp  and 
unnecessary  perils  that  it  even  pro- 
voked comment  from  the  white-hair- 
ed old  lady  knitting  placidly  by  the 
fire. 

2.  "Hark  at  the  wind,"  said  Mr. 
White,  who  having  seen  a  fatal  mis- 
take after  it  was  too  late,  was  ami- 
ably desirous  of  preventing  his  son 
from  seeing  it. 

3.  "I'm  listening,"  said  the  latter, 
grimly    surveying    the    board   as    he 
stretched  out  his  hand.     "  Check." 

4.  "  I  should  hardly  think  that  he'd 
come  to-night,"  said  his  father,  with 
his  hand  poised  over  the  board. 

5.  "  Mate,"  replied  the  son. 

6.  "  That's  the  worst  of  living  so 
far    out,"    bawled    Mr.    White,    with 
sudden    and    unlooked-for    violence; 
"  of  all  the  beastly,  slushy,  out-of-the- 

1  Copyright,  1902,  by  Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.,  in  the  collection  of  short-stories, 
The  Lady  of  the  Barge.     Used  by  permission. 


112  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

way  places  to  live  in,  this  is  the 
worst  Pathway's  a  bog,  and  the 
road's  a  torrent.  I  don't  know  what 
people  are  thinking  about.  I  sup- 
pose because  only  two  houses  in  the 
road  are  let,  they  think  it  doesn't 
matter." 

7.  "  Never    mind,    dear,"    said    his 
wife,     soothingly;     "perhaps     you'll 
win  the  next  one." 

8.  Mr.    White    looked    up    sharply, 
just  in  time  to  intercept  a  knowing 
glance     between     mother     and     son. 
The  words  died  away  on  his  lips,  and 
he  hid  a  guilty  grin  in  his  thin  grey 
beard. 

9.  "There    he    is,"    said    Herbert 
White,  as  the  gate  banged  to  loudly 
and    heavy    footsteps    came    toward 
the  door. 

10.  The  old  man  rose  with  hospi- 
table  haste,   and   opening   the   door, 
was  heard   condoling   with   the  new 
arrival.    The  new  arrival  also  con- 
doled   with    himself,    so    that    Mrs. 
White  said,  "Tut,  tut!"  and  cough- 
ed   gently    as    her    husband    entered 
the  room,  followed  by  a  tall,  burly 
man,  beady  of  eye  and  rubicund  of 
visage. 

11.  "  Sergeant-Major    Morris,"    he 
said,  introducing  him. 

12.  The       sergeant-major       shook 
hands,  and  taking  the  proffered  seat 
by    the     fire,     watched     contentedly 
while  his  host  got  out  whiskey  and 
tumblers   and   stood    a   small   copper 
kettle  on  the  fire. 

13.  At    the    third    glass    his    eyes 


STORIES   OF   MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 

got  brighter,  and  he  began  to  talk, 
the  little  family  circle  regarding  with 
eager  interest  this  visitor  from  dis- 
tant parts,  as  he  squared  his  broad 
shoulders  in  the  chair  and  spoke  of 
wild  scenes  and  doughty  deeds;  of 
wars  and  plagues  and  strange  peo- 
ples. 

14.  "Twenty-one  years  of  it,"  said 
Mr.  White,  nodding  at  his  wife  and 
son.     "  When  he  went  away  he  was 
a  slip  of  a  youth  in  the  warehouse. 
Now  look  at  him." 

15.  "  He  don't  look  to  have  taken 
much   harm,"   said  Mrs.  White,   po- 
litely. 

16.  "  I'd  like  to  go  to  India  my- 
self," said  the  old  man,  "just  to  look 
round  a  bit,  you  know." 

17.  "  Better  where  you   are,"   said 
the  sergeant-major,  shaking  his  head. 
He  put  down  the  empty  glass,  and 
sighing  softly,  shook  it  again. 

18.  "  I  should  like  to  see  those  old 
temples    and    fakirs    and    jugglers," 
said  the  old  man.    "  What  was  that 
you  started  telling  me  the  other  day 
about  a.  monkey's  paw  or  something, 
Morris?" 

19.  "  Nothing,"     said    the    soldier, 
hastily.     "  Leastways   nothing    worth 
hearing." 

20.  "  Monkey's    paw  ? "    said    Mrs. 
White,    curiously. 

21.  "Well,  it's  just  a  bit  of  what 
you  might  call  magic,  perhaps,"  said 
the    sergeant-major,    offhandedly. 

22.  His  three  listeners  leaned  for- 
ward   eagerly.    The    visitor    absent- 


114  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

mindedly  put  his  empty  glass  to  his 
lips  and  then  set  it  down  again. 
His  host  filled  it  for  him. 

23.  "To    look    at,"    said    the    ser- 
geant-major, fumbling  in  his  pocket, 
"it's    just    an    ordinary    little    paw, 
dried  to  a  mummy." 

24.  He  took  something  out  of  his 
pocket  and  proffered  it.    Mrs.  White 
drew  back  with  a  grimace,  but  her 
son,  taking  it,  examined  it  curiously. 

25.  "And    what    is    there    special 
about    it  ? "   inquired   Mr.    White   as 
he  took  it  from  his  son,  and  having 
examined  it,  placed  it  upon  the  table. 

26.  "  It  had   a   spell   put  on   it  by 
an  old  fakir,"  said  the  sergeant-ma- 
jor, "a  very  holy  man.     He  wanted 
to    show    that    fate    ruled    people's 
lives,  and  that  those  who  interfered 
with  it  did  so  to  their  sorrow.    He 
put  a  spell  on  it  so  that  three  sep- 
arate   men    could    each    have    three 
wishes  from  it/' 

27.  His  manner  was  so  impressive 
that  his  hearers  were  conscious  that 
their    light    laughter    jarred     some- 
what. 

28.  "Well,    why    don't    you    have 
three,    sir?"    said    Herbert    White, 
cleverly. 

29.  The    soldier    regarded   him    in 
the  way  that  middle  age  is  wont  to 
regard      presumptuous      youth.    "  I 
have,"     he     said,    quietly,    and     his 
blotchy  face  whitened. 

30.  "And  did  you  really  have  the 
three   wishes   granted?"  asked   Mrs. 
White.. 


STORIES   OF   MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


31.  "  I  did,"  said  the  sergeant-ma- 
Jor,  and  his  glass  tapped  against  his 
strong  teeth. 

32.  "And  has  anybody  else  wish- 
ed?" persisted  the  old  lady. 

33.  "The  first  man  had  his  three 
wishes.    Yes,"    was    the    reply ;    '*  I 
3on't  know  what  the  first  two  were, 
but  the  third  was  for  death.    That's 
aow  I  got  the  paw." 

34.  His  tones  were  so  grave  that 
a  hush  fell  upon  the  group. 

35.  "  If     you've     had     your     three 
wishes,  it's  no  good  to  you  now,  then, 
Morris,"   said  the   old   man   at   last. 
"  What  do  you  keep  it  for  ?  " 

36.  The    soldier    shook    his    head. 
"Fancy,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  slowly. 
"  I  did  have  some  idea  of  selling  it, 
but  I  don't  think  I  will     It  has  caused 
enough     mischief     already.     Besides, 
people   won't   buy.    They   think   it's 
a  fairy  tale,  some  of  them ;  and  those 
who  do  think  anything  of  it  want  to 
try  it  first  and  pay  me  afterward." 

37.  "  If    you    could    have    another 
three  wishes,"  said  the  old  man,  eye- 
ing   him    keenly,    "would    you    have 
them  ?  " 

38.  "  I  don't  know,"  said  the  other. 
"  I  don't  know." 

39.  He  took  the  paw,  and  dangling 
it  between  his  forefinger  and  thumb, 
suddenly    threw    it    upon    the    fire. 
White,    with    a    slight    cry,    stooped 
down  and  snatched  it  off. 

40.  "Better  let  it  burn,"  said  the 
soldier,  solemnly. 


Il6  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

41.  "  If  you  don't  want  it,  Morris," 
said  the  other,  "  give  it  to  me." 

42.  "  I  won't,"  said  his  friend  dog- 
gedly.   "  I  threw  it  on  the  fire.    If 
you  keep  it,  don't  blame  me  for  what 
happens.     Pitch  it  on  the  fire  again 
like  a  sensible  man." 

43.  The  other  shook  his  head  and 
examined  his  new  possession  closely. 
"How  do  you  do  it?"  he  inquired. 

44.  "  Hold  it  up  in  your  right  hand 
and  wish  aloud,"  said  the  sergeant- 
major,  "but  I  warn  you  of  the  con- 
sequences/' 

45.  "  Sounds      like     the     Arabian 
Nights,"  said  Mrs.  White,  as  she  rose 
and  began  to  set  the  supper.     "  Don't 
you  think  you  might  wish  for  four 
pairs  of  hands  for  me?" 

46.  Her  husband  drew  the  talisman 
from  his  pocket,  and  then  all  three 
burst  into  laughter  as  the  sergeant- 
major,  with  a  look  of  alarm  on  his 
face,  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

47.  "If  you  must  wish,"  he  said, 
gruffly,    "wish    for    something    sen- 
sible." 

48.  Mr. 'White  dropped  it  back  in 
his  pocket,  and  placing  chairs,  motion- 
ed his   friend   to   the  table.    In   the 
business  of  supper  the  talisman  was 
partly   forgotten,   and   afterward  the 
three   sat   listening  in   an  enthralled 
fashion  to  a  second  instalment  of  the 
soldier's  adventures  in  India. 

49.  "  If  the  tale  about  the  monkey's 
paw  is  not  more  truthful  than  those 
he  has  been  telling  us,"  said  Herbert, 
as  the  door  closed  behind  their  guest, 


STORIES  OF   MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 


just  in  time  for  him  to  catch  the  last 
train,  "we  shan't  make  much  out  of 
it." 

50.  "  Did   you    give   him   anything 
for  it,  father?"  inquired  Mrs.  White, 
regarding  her  husband  closely. 

51.  "A   trifle,"   said   he,    colouring 
slightly.    "He  didn't  want  it,  but  I 
made  him  take  it.    And  he  pressed 
me  again  to  throw  it  away." 

52.  "Likely,"    said    Herbert,    with 
pretended  horror.    "Why,  we're  go- 
ing to  be  rich,  and  famous  and  hap- 
py.   Wish  to  be  an  emperor,  father, 
to  begin  with ;  then  you  can't  be  hen- 
pecked." 

53.  He    darted    round    the    table, 
pursued  by  the  maligned  Mrs.  White 
armed  with  an  antimacassar. 

54.  Mr.  White  took  the  paw  from 
his  pocket  and  eyed  it  dubiously.     "  I 
don't   know   what   to   wish   for,   and 
that's  a  fact,"  he  said,  slowly.    "  It 
seems  to  me  I've  got  all  I  want." 

55-  "  If  you  only  cleared  the  house, 
you'd  be  quite  happy,  wouldn't  you?  " 
said  Herbert,  with  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  "  Well,  wish  for  two  hun- 
dred pounds,  then;  that'll  just  do 
it." 

56.  His  father,  smiling  shamefaced- 
ly at  his  own  credulity,  held  up  the 
talisman,  as  his  son,  with  a  solemn 
face,  somewhat  marred  by  a  wink  at 
his   mother,   sat   down  at  the   piano 
and  struck  a  few  impressive  chords. 

57.  "  I     wish     for     two     hundred 
pounds,"  said  the  old  man  distinctly. 

58.  A    fine    crash    from    the   piano 


Il8  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

greeted  the  words,  interrupted  by  a 
shuddering  cry  from  the  old  man. 
His  wife  and  son  ran  toward  him. 

59.  "It   moved,"    he   cried,   with   a 
glance  of  disgust  at  the  object  as  it 
lay  on  the  floor. 

60.  "  As  I  wished,  it  twisted  in  my 
hand  like  a  snake." 

61.  "  Well,  I  don't  see  the  money/' 
said  his  son  as  he  picked  it  up  and 
placed   it  on   the   table,   "  and   I  bet 
I  never  shall." 

62.  "  It  must  have  been  your  fancy, 
father/'  said  his  wife,  regarding  him 
anxiously. 

63.  He    shook    his    head.    "  Never 
mind,  though ;  there's  no  harm,  but  it 
gave  me  a  shock  all  the  same  " 

64.  They  sat  down  by  the  fire  again 
while    the    two    men    finished    their 
pipes.    Outside,  the  wind  was  higher 
than  ever,  and  the  old  man  started 
nervously   at   the    sound    of   a    door 
banging  upstairs.    A  silence  unusual 
and  depressing  settled  upon  all  three, 
which  lasted  until  the  old  couple  rose 
to  retire  for  the  night. 

65.  "I  expect  you'll  find  the  cash 
tied  up  in  a  big  bag  in  the  middle  of 
your  bed,"  said  Herbert,  as  he  bade 
them    good-night,     "  and    something 
horrible  squatting  up  on  top  of  the 
wardrobe  watching  you  as  you  pocket 
your  ill-gotten  gams." 

66.  He  sat  alone  in  the  darkness, 
gazing  at  the  dying  fire,  and  seeing 
faces    in    it.     The    last   face    was    so 
horrible  and  so  simian  that  he  gazed 
at  it  in  amazement.    It  got  so  vivid 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY 

that,  with  a  little  uneasy  laugh,  he 
felt  on  the  table  for  a  glass  contain- 
ing a  little  water  to  throw  over  it. 
His  hand  grasped  the  monkey's  paw, 
and  with  a  little  shiver  he  wiped  his 
hand  on  his  coat  and  went  up  to  bed. 

II 

67.  In  the  brightness  of  the  wintry 
sun  next  morning  as  it  streamed  over 
the  breakfast  table  he  laughed  at  his 
fears.    There  was  an  air  of  prosaic 
wholesomeness  about  the  room  which 
it  had  lacked  on  the  previous  night, 
and   the   dirty,   shrivelled   little    paw 
was  pitched  on  the  sideboard  with  a 
carelessness  which  betokened  no  great 
belief  in  its  virtues. 

68.  "  I  suppose  all  old  soldiers  are 
the  same,"  said  Mrs.  White.    "The 
idea   of  our  listening   to   such   non- 
sense !     How  could  wishes  be  granted 
in  these   days?    And   if  they  could, 
how  could  two  hundred  pounds  hurt 
you,  father  ?  " 

69.  "  Might  drop  on  his  head  from 
the  sky,"  said  the  frivolous  Herbert. 

70.  "Morris    said   the   things   hap- 
pened so  naturally,"  said  his  father, 
"that  you  might  if  you   so  wished 
attribute  it  to  coincidence." 

71.  "Well,    don't    break    into    the 
money  before  I  come  back,"  said  Her- 
bert as  he  rose  from  the  table.    "  I'm 
afraid   it'll   turn   you    into   a   mean, 
avaricious  man,   and   we   shall  have 
to  disown  you." 

72.  His   mother    laughed,   and   fol- 


I2O  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

lowing  him  to  the  door,  watched  him 
down  the  road ;  and  returning  to  the 
breakfast  table,  was  very  happy  at  the 
expense  of  her  husband's  credulity. 
All  of  which  did  not  prevent  her  from 
scurrying  to  the  door  at  the  postman's 
knock,  nor  prevent  her  from  referring 
somewhat  shortly  to  retired  sergeant- 
majors  of  bibulous  habits  when  she 
found  that  the  post  brought  a  tailor's 
bill. 

73.  "Herbert  will  have  some  more 
of  his  funny  remarks,  I  expect,  when 
he  comes   home,"  she  said,  as  they 
sat  at  dinner. 

74.  "I  dare  say,"  said  Mr.  White, 
pouring  himself  out  some  beer;  "but 
for  all  that,  the  thing  moved  in  my 
hand;  that  I'll  swear  to." 

75.  "  You  thought  it  did,"  said  the 
old  lady  soothingly. 

76.  "  I  say  it  did,"  replied  the  other. 
"  There  was  no  thought  about  it ;  I 
had  just— What's  the  matter?" 

77.  His  wife  made  no  reply.     She 
was  watching  the  mysterious  move- 
ments of  a  man  outside,  who,  peer- 
ing in  an  undecided   fashion  at  the 
house,  appeared  to  be  trying  to  make 
up    his    mind    to    enter.    In    mental 
connection    with    the    two    hundred 
pounds,  she  noticed  that  the  stranger 
was   well   dressed,  and  wore  a  silk 
hat  of  glossy  newness.    Three  times 
he  paused  at  the  gate,  and  then  walk- 
ed  on   again.    The    fourth   time   he 
stood  with  his  hand  upon  it,  and  then 
with  sudden  resolution  flung  it  open 
and  walked  up  the  path.    Mrs.  White 


STORIES   OF   MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY  121 


at  the  same  moment  placed  her  hands 
behind  her,  and  hurriedly  unfastening 
the  strings  of  her  apron,  put  that  use- 
ful article  of  apparel  beneath  the 
cushion  of  her  chair. 

78.  She  brought  the  stranger,  who 
seemed  ill  at  ease,  into  the  room.    He 
gazed  at  her  furtively,  "and  listened  in 
a  preoccupied  fashion  as  the  old  lady 
apologized  for  the  appearance  of  the 
room,  and  her  husband's  coat,  a  gar- 
ment which  he  usually  reserved  for 
the  garden.     She  then  waited  as  pa- 
tiently as  her  sex  would  permit,  for 
him   to  broach  his  business,  but  he 
was  at  first  strangely  silent. 

79.  "  I  —  was  asked  to  call,"  he  said 
at   last,    and   stooped   and   picked   a 
piece  of  cotton  from  his  trousers.    "  I 
come  from  Maw  and  Meggins." 

80.  The  old  lady  started.     "  Is  any- 
thing the  matter?  "  she  asked,  breath- 
lessly.    "  Has   anything   happened   to 
Herbert  ?     What  is  it  ?     What  is  it  ?  " 

81.  Her         husband         interposed. 
"  There,    there,    mother/'    he    said, 
hastily.     "  Sit  down,  and  don't  j  ump 
to  conclusions.     You've  not  brought 
bad  news,  I'm  sure,  sir ; "  and  he  eyed 
the  other  wistfully. 

82.  "I'm  sorry — "  began  the  visit- 
or. 

83.  "Is    he   hurt?"    demanded   the 
mother,  wildly. 

84.  The    visitor    bowed    in    assent. 
"  Badly  hurt,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  but 
he  is  not  in  any  pain." 

85.  "  Oh,  thank  God !  "  said  the  old 


122  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

woman,  clasping  her  hands.    "  Thank 
God  for  that!  Thank—" 

86.  She  broke  off  suddenly  as  the 
sinister    meaning    of    the    assurance 
dawned  upon  her  and  she  saw   the 
awful    confirmation   of  her   fears    in 
the  other's  averted  face.     She  caught 
her     breath,     and     turning     to     her 
slower-witted     husband,      laid     her 
trembling  old  hand  upon  his.     There 
was  a  long  silence. 

87.  "  He  was  caught  in  the  machin- 
ery," said  the  visitor  at  length  in  a 
low  voice. 

88.  "  Caught  in  the  machinery."  re- 
peated Mr.   White,  in  a  dazed  fash- 
ion, "  yes." 

89.  He   sat  staring  blankly  out  at 
the    window,    and    taking   his    wife's 
hand  between  his  own,  pressed  it  as 
he  had  been  wont  to  do  in  their  old 
courting-days  nearly  forty  years  be- 
fore. 

90.  "  He  was  the  only  one  left  to 
us,"   he   said,   turning  gently  to   the 
visitor.     "It  is  hard." 

91.  The  other  coughed,  and  rising, 
walked  slowly  to  the  window.    "  The 
firm    wished    me    to    convey    their 
sincere   sympathy   with   you   in   your 
great  loss,"  he  said,  without  looking 
round.     "  I  beg  that  you  will  under- 
stand  I    am   only  their  servant   and 
merely  obeying  orders." 

92.  There    was    no   reply;    the   old 
woman's    face    was    white,   her    eyes 
staring,  and  her  breath  inaudible ;  on 
the  husband's  face  was  a  look  such 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY  123 

as  his  friend  the  sergeant  might  have 
carried  into  his  first  action. 

93.  "  1  was  to  say  that  Maw  and 
Meggins ,  disclaim  all   responsibility," 
continued    the    other.     "  They    admit 
no  liability  at  all,  but  in  consideration 
of  your  Son's  services,  they  wish  to 
present  you   with  a  certain  sum   as 
compensation." 

94.  Mr.   White   dropped  his   wife's 
hand,   and   rising  to  his   feet,  gazed 
with  a  look  of  horror  at  his  visitor. 
His     dry     lips     shaped     the     words. 
"  How  much  ?  " 

95.  "Two    hundred    pounds/'    was 
the  answer. 

96.  Unconscious      of      his      wife's 
shriek,  the  old  man  smiled  faintly,  put 
out  his  hands  like  a  sightless  man, 
and  dropped,  a  senseless  heap,  to  the 
floor. 

Ill 

97.  In  the  huge  new  cemetery,  some 
two  miles  distant,  the  old  people  bur- 
ied their  dead,  and  came  back  to  a 
house  steeped  in  shadow  and  silence. 
It  was  all  over  so  quickly  that  at  first 
they  could  hardly  realize  it,  and  re- 
mained in  a  state  of  expectation  as 
though  of  something  else  to  happen 
—  something     else     which     was     to 
lighten  this  load,  too  heavy  for  old 
hearts  to  bear, 

98.  But  the  days  passed,  and   ex- 
pectation gave  place  to  resignation  — 
the  hopeless  resignation  of  the  old, 
sometimes  miscalled,  apathy.     Some- 
times they  hardly  exchanged  a  word, 


124  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

for  now  they  had  nothing  to  talk 
about,  and  their  days  were  long  to 
weariness.  J^  \  tV^^ 

QQ.  It  was  about  a  week  after,  that 
the  old  man,  waking  suddenly  iii  the 
night,  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
found  himself  alone.  The  room  was 
in  darkness,  and  the  sound  of  subdued 
weeping  came  from  the  window.  He 
raised  himself  in  bed  and  listened. 

100.  "  Come  back,"  he  said,  tender- 
ly.   "  You  will  be  cold." 

101.  "  It  is  colder  for  my  son."  said 
the  old  woman,  and  wept  afresh. 

102.  The   sound   of  her   sobs   died 
away    on    his    ears.    The    bed    was 
warm,  and  his  eyes  heavy  with  sleep. 
He  dozed  fitfully,  and  then  slept  until 
a    sudden    wild    cry    from    his    wife 
awoke  him  with  a  start. 

103.  "  The  paw !  "  she  cried  wildly. 
"  The  monkey's  paw !  " 

104.  He     started     up     in     alarm. 
"Where?  Where  is  it?    What's  the 
matter?" 

105.  She  came  stumbling  across  the 
room  toward  him.     "  I  want  it,"  she 
said,  quietly.    "  You've  not  destroyed 
it?" 

106.  "It's   in   the   parlour,   on   the 
bracket,"      he      replied      marvelling. 
"Why?" 

107.  She    cried    and    laughed    to- 
gether, and  bending  over,  kissed  his 
cheek. 

108.  "I   only   just   thought   of   it," 
she  said,  hysterically.    "  Why  didn't 
I  think  of  it  before?    Why  didn't  you 
think  of  it?" 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY  125 

109.  "Think  of  what?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 

no.  "The  other  two  wishes,"  she 
replied,  rapidly.  "  We've  only  had 
one." 

in.  "Was  not  that  enough?"  he 
demanded,  fiercely. 

112.  "  No,"  she  cried,  triumphantly; 
"  we'll  have  one  more.     Go  down  and 
get  it  quickly,  and  wish  our  boy  alive 
again." 

113.  The  man   sat  up  in  bed  and 
flung  the  bed-clothes  from  his  quak- 
ing   limbs.     "  Good     God,    you     are 
mad !  "  he  cried,  aghast. 

114.  "Get  it,"  she  panted;  "get  it 
quickly,  and  wish  —  Oh,  my  boy,  my 
boy !  " 

115.  Her  husband   struck  a  match 
and    lit   the    candle.    "  Get    back   to 
bed,"     he     said,     unsteadily.    "  You 
don't  know  what  you  are  saying." 

116.  "We  had  the  first  wish  grant- 
ed," said  the  old  woman,  feverishly; 
"  why  not  the  second?  " 

117.  "A    coincidence,"    stammered 
the  old  man. 

118.  "Go    and    get    it    and    wish," 
cried  his  wife,  quivering  with  excite- 
ment. 

119.  The  old  man  turned  and  re- 
garded   her,    and    his    voice    shook. 
"  He  has  been  dead  ten  days,  and  be- 
sides he  —  I  would  not  tell  yon  else, 
but  —  I  could  only  recognize  him  by 
his  clothing.     If  he  was  too  terrible 
for  you  to  see  then,  how  now  ?  " 

120.  "  Bring   him    back,"   cried   the 
old  woman,  and  dragged  him  toward 


126  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

the  door.  "Do  you  think  I  fear  the 
child  I  have  nursed?" 

121.  He   went   down  in  the   dark- 
ness, and  felt  his  way  to  the  parlour, 
and    then    to    the   mantelpiece.    The 
talisman  was  in  its  place,  and  a  hor- 
rible   fear    that    the    unspoken    wisib 
might  bring  his  mutilated  son  befort        ^ 
him   ere   he   could   escape   from   the 
room  seized  upon  him,  and  he  caught 

his  breath  as  he  found  that  he  had 
lost  the  direction  of  the  door.  His 
brow  cold  with  sweat,  he  felt  his 
way  round  the  table,  and  groped  along 
the  wall  until  he  found  himself  in 
the  small  passage  with  the  unwhole- 
some thing  in  his  hand. 

122.  Even   his   wife's    face   seemed 
changed  as  he  entered  the  room.     It 
was  white  and  expectant,  and  to  his 
fears   seemed   to   have  an   unnatural 
look  upon  it.    He  was  afraid  of  her. 

123.  "Wish!"     she     cried     in     a 
strong  voice. 

124.  "It  is  foolish  and  wicked,"  he 
faltered. 

125.  "  Wish  !  "  repeated  his  wife. 

126.  He  raised  his  hand.     "  I  wish 
my  son  alive  again." 

127.  The  talisman  fell  to  the  floor, 
and  he   regarded  it  fearfully.     Then 
he  sank  trembling  into  a  chair  as  the 
old  woman,  with  burning  eyes,  walk- 
ed   to    the    window    and    raised    the 
blind. 

128.  He    sat   until    he   was   chilled 
with  the  cold,  glancing  occasionally  at 
the  figure  of  the  old  woman  peering 
through    the    window.    The    candle- 


STORIES   OF   MYSTERY   AND   FANTASY  Z2J 

end,  which  had  burned  below  the  rim 
of  the  china  candle-stick,  was  throw- 
ing pulsating  shadows  on  the  ceilings 
and  walls,  until,  with  a  flicker  larger 
than  the  rest,  it  expired.  The  old 
man,  with  an  unspeakable  sense  of 
relief  at  the  failure  of  the  talisman, 
crept  back  to  his  bed,  and  a  minute  or 
two  afterward  the  old  woman  came 
silently  and  apathetically  beside  him. 

129.  Neither  spoke,  but  lay  silently 
listening  to  the  ticking  of  the  clock. 
A  stair  creaked,  and  a  squeaky  mouse 
scurried    noisily    through    the    wall. 
The  darkness  was  oppressive,  and  af- 
ter lying  for  some  time  screwing  up 
his    courage,    he    took    the    box    of 
matches,     and     striking     one,     went 
downstairs  for  a  candle. 

130.  At  the  foot  of  the   stairs  the 
match-  went   out,   and   he   paused   to 
strike    another;     and    at    the    same 
moment  a  knock,  so  quiet  and  stealthy 
as  to  be  scarcely  audible,  sounded  on 
the  front  door. 

131.  The    matches    fell    from    his 
hand  and  spilled  in  the  passage.    He 
stood  motionless,  his  breath  suspend- 
ed   until    the    knock    was    repeated. 
Then  he  turned  and  fled  swiftly  back 
to  his  room,  and  closed  the  door  be- 
hind  him,    A    third   knock   sounded, 
through  the  house. 

132.  "What's  that?"  cried  the  old 
woman,  starting  up. 

133.  "A  rat,"  said  the  old  man  in 
shaking    tones  —  "a    rat.    It    passed 
me  on  the  stairs." 

134.  His  wife  sat  up  in  bed  listen- 


128  STUDYING    THE   SHORT-STORY 

ing.    A       loud      knock       resounded 
through  the  house. 

135-  "It's  Herbert!"  she  screamed, 
"It's  Herbert!" 

136.  She  ran  to  the  door,  but  her 
husband  was  before  her,  and  catch- 
ing her  by  the  arm,  held  her  tightly. 

137.  "What  are  you  going  to  do?" 
he  whispered  hoarsely. 

138.  "It's  my  boy;  it's  Herbert!" 
she    cried,    struggling    mechanically. 
"  I    forgot    it   was   two   miles    away. 
What  are  you  holding  me  for?    Let 
go.     I  must  open  the  door.'' 

139.  "  For   God's   sake  don't  let  it 
in,"  cried  the  old  man,  trembling. 

140.  "  You're   afraid   of  your   own 
son,"  she  cried,  struggling.    "  Let  me 
go.     I'm  coming,  Herbert;  I'm  com- 
ing." 

141.  There  was  another  knock,  and 
another.    The  old  woman  with  a  sud- 
den wrench  broke  free  and  ran  from 
the  room.    Her  husband  followed  to 
the  landing,  and  called  after  her  ap- 
pealingly  as  she  hurried  downstairs. 
He  heard  the  chain  rattle  back  and 
the   bottom   bolt   drawn    slowly   and 
stiffly  from  the  socket.     Then  the  old 
woman's  voice,  strained  and  panting. 

142.  "The  bolt,"  she  cried,  loudly. 
"  Come  down.    I  can't  reach  it." 

143.  But  her  husband  was  on  his 
hands  and  knees  groping  wildly  on 
the  floor  in  search  of  the  paw.     If  he 
could   only  find  it  before   the  thing 
outside  got  in.     A  perfect  fusillade  of 
knocks     reverberated     through     the 
house,  and  he  heard  the  scraping  of 


STORIES   OF    MYSTERY  AND   FANTASY  I2Q 

a  chair  as  his  wife  put  it  down  in 
the  passage  against  the  door.  He 
heard  the  creaking  of  the  bolt  as  it 
came  slowly  back,  and  at  the  same 
moment  he  found  the  monkey's  paw, 
and  frantically  breathed  his  third  and 
last  wish. 

144.  The  knocking  ceased  suddenly, 
although  the  echoes  of  it  were  still  in 
the  house.  He  heard  the  chair  drawn 
back,  and  the  door  opened.  A  cold 
wind  rushed  up  the  staircase,  and  a 
long  loud  wail  of  disappointment  and 
misery  from  his  wife  gave  him 
courage  to  run  down  to  her  side,  and 
then  to  the  gate  beyond.  The  street 
lamp  flickering  opposite  shone  on  a 
quiet  and  deserted  road. 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 

1.  Does  it  add  to  the  interest  of  a  story,  for  you,  when  you  are 
baffled  by  its  mystery  up  to  the  very  end  ? 

2.  What  author's  detective  stories  do  you  consider  the  best? 
Why? 

3.  If  possible,  secure  a  copy  of  Voltaire's  "Zadig,"  and  write 
a  short  paper  on  Zadig's  reasoning. 

4.  Does  the  introduction  of  an  element  of  the  supernatural  in- 
crease or  lessen  the  interest  of  a  story,  for  you? 

5.  Write  about  two-hundred  words  comparing   (a)   the  work 
of  Poe's  Dupin  with  Doyle's  Sherlock  Holmes ;  (b)  with  that  of 
any  other  fictional  detective  —  Chesterton's  Father  Brown,   for 
example. 

6.  Explain  what  is  meant  by  inductive  reasoning. 

7.  Select  from  some  magazine  (a)  a  good  detective  story,  and 
(b)  a  good  story  of  the  unexplained,  or  supernatural,     (c)  Dis- 
cuss the  relative  merits  of  each. 

8.  Do  you  prefer  Jacobs  as  a  writer  of  humorous  stories  of 
sea-faring  folk  or  as  a  writer  of  the  weird  ? 

0.  Which  of  Poe's  stories  do  you  like  best,  and  why? 


130  STUDYING  THE  SHORT-STORY 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  STORIES  OF  MYS- 
TERY AND  FANTASY 

"  The  Horla,"  Guy  de  Maupassant,  translated  in  Modern 

Ghosts. 
"  The  Lost  Duchess,"  Anonymous,  in  The  Lock  and  Key 

Library. 
"  The  Golden  Ingot,"  Fitz-James  O'Brien,  in  The  Lock 

and  Key  Library. 

"  The  Gold  Bug,"  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  in  Tales. 
"  The  Black  Spaniel,"  Robert  Hichens,  in  volume  of  same 

title. 

"The  Upper  Berth,"   F.   Marion   Crawford,   in  Short- 
Story  Classics,  American. 
"  The  Adventure  of  the  Dancing  Men,"  A.  Conan  Doyle, 

in  The  Return  of  Sherlock  Holmes. 
''  The  Venus  of  Ille,"  Prosper  Merimee,  translated  in 

Little  French  Masterpieces. 
"  The  Pavilion  on  the  Links,"  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

in  New  Arabian  Nights. 
"  The  Damned  Thing,"  Ambrose  Bierce,  in  Short-Story 

Classics,  American. 


Ill 

STORIES  OF  EMOTION 

The  Last  Class. —  ALPHONSE  DAUDET 
Without  Benefit  of  Clergy. —  RUDYARD  KIPLING 


In  painting  we  may  represent  any  fine  figure  we  please;  but 
we  never  can  give  it  those  enlivening  touches  which  it  may  re- 
ceive from  words.  To  represent  an  angel  in  a  picture,  you  can 
only  draw  a  beautiful  young  man  winged :  but  what  painting 
can  furnish  out  any  thing  so  grand  as  the  addition  of  one  word, 
"the  angel  of  the  Lord?"  .  .  .  Now,  as  there  is  a  moving  tone  of 
voice,  an  impassioned  countenance,  an  agitated  gesture,  which 
affect  independently  of  the  things  about  which  they  are  exerted, 
so  there  are  words,  and  certain  dispositions  of  words,  which 
being  peculiarly  devoted  to  passionate  subjects,  and  always  used 
by  those  who  are  under  the  influence  of  any  passion,  touch  and 
move  us  more  than  those  which  far  more  clearly  and  distinctly 
express  the  subject-matter.  We  yield  to  sympathy  what  we  re- 
fuse to  description. —  EDMUND  BURKE,  On  the  Sublime  and 
Beautiful. 


132 


STORIES  OF  EMOTION 

Fictional  plots  deal  with  the  inner  man  quite  as  often 
as  with  the  outer.  Indeed,  the  action  of  the  soul  is  more 
real,  intense  and  interesting  than  mere  visible  action  could 
possibly  be.  For  this  reason  the  master  story-tellers 
nearly  always  interpret  the  inner  life  —  whether  of 
thought,  of  emotion,  or  of  decision  —  by  displaying  the 
outer,  instead  of  by  merely  analyzing  and  discussing  the 
thoughts,  feelings  and  decisions  of  their  charac^rs. 
The  more  clearly  this  outer  action  pictures  the  inner  man, 
the  more  real  does  the  character  become  to  us  and  the 
more  perfectly  do  we  grasp  the  whole  story. 

As  a  universal  human  experience,  emotion  *  mingles 
with  all  manifestations  of  life.  In  the  short-story  it  finds 
various  expression  in  the  hilarious  fun  of  "  Pigs  is  Pigs/' 
by  Butler ;  the  character  humor  of  Barrie's  "  Thrums  " 
stories ;  the  mingled  humor  and  pathos  of  Harte's  "  The 
Luck  of  Roaring  Camp " ;  the  patriotic  sentiment  of 
Daudet's  "  The  Siege  of  Berlin  " ;  the  mystic  sympathy 
of  Kipling's  "They";  the  idyllic  love  of  the  Book  of 
Ruth ;  the  incomparable  psychological  insight  of  Maupas- 
sant's "  A  Coward " ;  the  cold,  revengeful  jealousy  of 

1  Emotion  is  a  broad  word  loosely  used  to  embrace  all  the  tones  of  inner 
feeling,  from  the  palest  sentiment  depicted  by  a  Jane  Austen,  to  the  darkest 
passion  of  a  Werther. —  Writing  the  Short-Story,  p.  181,  which  see  for  a 
fuller  discussion  of  emotion  in  the  short-story. 

133 


134  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

Balzac's  "  La  Grande  Breteche " ;  the  choking,  super* 
natural  terror  of  Poe's  "The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum"; 
the  tragic  passion  of  Merimee's  "Mateo  Falcone,"  and  all 
the  myriad  shades  and  combinations  of  shades  which  lie 
between. 

Naturally,  each  story  in  this  entire  collection  illustrates 
one  or  another  emotional  phase,  as  even  a  cursory  read- 
ing will  make  clear.  What,  for  example,  could  be  more 
intense  than  the  emotions  of  those  two  parents,  as  de- 
picted in  "  The  Monkey's  Paw ! "  But  for  this  group 
two  stories  have  been  selected  as  being  typical  examples 
of  emotional  expression,  because  in  them  human  feeling 
predominates  over  all  other  characteristics  and  really 
makes  the  story. 

"  The  Last  Class,"  which  is  here  presented  in  a  trans- 
lation by  the  editor  of  this  volume,  is  rich  in  local  color, 
in  impressionism,  and  in  character  drawing,  but  as  an 
unaffected  picture  of  patriotic  feeling  it  is  unsurpassed 
in  the  literature  of  the  short-story.  There  is  not  a  single 
jarring  emotional  tone,  not  the  slightest  exaggeration  of 
true  emotional  values.  With  singular  repression,  Daudet 
secures  his  effects  by  suggesting  rather  than  fully  express- 
ing the  profound  feelings  of  the  school-master,  his  pupils, 
and  the  visitors ;  and  when  the  majestically  simple  climax 
is  reached,  we  have  accepted  the  reality  of  it  all  and  have 
received  a  single  effective  and  lasting  impression. 

"  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy,"  the  second  specimen,  is 
left  for  the  reader  to  analyze  and  discuss.  Surely  this 
most  sadly  touching  of  all  love-stories  presents  the 
poignant  pity,  the  inevitable  disaster,  the  final  heart-break 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  135 

of  unsanctified  love,  as  never  before  or  since  in  the  pages 
of  fiction. 


DAUDET  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

Alphonse  Daudet  was  born  at  Nimes,  France,  May 
13,  1840.  Here  and  at  Lyons  he  received  his  education. 
At  the  age  of  seventeen  he  and  his  brother  Ernest  went 
to  Paris,  where  Alphonse  published  his  first  long  poem 
two  years  later.  This  began  his  literary  success.  From 
1860  to  1865  he  served  as  secretary  in  the  Cabinet  of  the 
Duke  de  Morny,  and  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-five  was 
decorated  with  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  ^He 
was  profoundly  impressed  by  the  memories  of  his  early 
life  and  frequently,  revisited  his  native  Provence.  The 
South-of-France  tone  is  distinguishable  in  much  of  his 
work,  just  as  the  powerful  feelings  called  forth  by  the 
Franco-Prussian  war  find  expression  in  other  of  his 
writings.  He  died  in  Paris,  December  16,  1897.1 

Alphonse  Daudet  was  a  dramatist,  poet,  novelist,  and 
short-story  writer.  The  Nabob,  Sappho,  Jack,  Kings  in 
Exile,  Numa  Roumestan,  Fromont  and  Risler,  The 
Evangelist,  and  the  "  Tartarin  "  books  are  his  best  known 
novels.  Among  his  best  short-stories  are  "  The  Pope's 
Mule,"  "  The  Death  of  the  Dauphin,"  "  The  Three  Low 
Masses,"  "  The  Elixir  of  the  Reverend  Father  Gaudier," 
"  Old  Folks,"  and  "  Master  Cornille's  Secret  "—  all  from 
the  collection,  Letters  from  My  Mill.  The  following 
little  masterpieces  are  from  his  Monday  Tales:  "  The 
Game  of  Billiards,"  "  The  Child  Spy,"  "  The  Little  Pies," 


£36  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

"Mothers,"   "The   Siege  of   Berlin/'   and   "The   Last 
Class." 

At  the  close  of  the  Franco-Prussian  war,  in  1871, 
France  was  forced  to  cede  to  Germany  almost  all  of 
Alsace,  about  nine  thousand  square  miles  of  territory,  in 
addition  to  an  indemnity  of  one  billion  dollars.  ''  The 
Last  Class "  was  held,  therefore,  about  1872,  and  the 
story  was  first  published  in  1873. 

Daudet's  literary  genius  sounded  every  note,  from 
farce,  delicate  humor,  and  satire,  to  poetic  pathos,  dra- 
matic action,  character  analysis,  and  social  criticism.  He 
resembled  Dickens  in  his  humor,  but  displayed  more 
emotional  tenderness,  and,  in  his  later  work,  more  satire, 
than  did  the  English  writer.  Though  he  may  be  called 
the  literary  descendant  of  Balzac,  whose  novels  system- 
atically depicted  French  society  in  all  its  phases,  Daudet 
was  less  a  social  philosopher  and  more  a  man  expressing 
his  own  personality  through  his  work.  Comparing  him 
with  Maupassant,  we  find  his  stories  less  perfect  in  form, 
but  far  richer  in  human  feeling.  Though  at  times  he 
dealt  with  subjects  which  English  readers  consider  broad, 
his  sympathy  unmistakably  appears  to  be  with  his  nobler 
characters. 

When  only  ten  years  of  age,  I  was  already  haunted  at  times 
by  the  desire  to  lose  my  own  personality,  and  incarnate  myself 
in  other  beings;  the  mania  was  already  laying  hold  of  me  for 
observing  and  analyzing,  and  my  chief  amusement  during  my 
walks  was  to  pick  out  some  passer-by,  and  to  follow  him  all  over 
Lyons,  through  all  his  idle  strollings  or  busy  occupations,  striv- 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  137 

ing  to  identify  myself  with  his  life,  and  to  enter  into  his  inner- 
most thoughts. —  ALPHONSE  DAUDET,  Thirty  Years  of  Paris. 

Daudet  expresses  many  things;  but  he  most  frequently  ex- 
presses himself  —  his  own  temper  in  the  presence  of  life,  his  own 
feeling  on  a  thousand  occasions.— HENRY  JAMES,  Partial  Por- 
traits. 

Life,  as  he  knows  it,  is  sad,  full  of  disappointment,  bitterness, 
and  suffering ;  and  yet  the  conclusion  he  draws  from  experience 
is  that  this  life,  with  all  its  sadness,  is  well  worth  living. —  RENE 
DOUMIC,  Contemporary  French  Novelists. 

The  short  stories  are  Daudet  at  his  best,  a  style  tense,  virile, 
full  of  suppressed  energy.  .  .  .  There  is  a  nobler  strain  in  these 
stories  than  speaks  from  the  pages  of  Le  Petit  Chose  ["  Little 
What's-His-Name"], —  the  ring  of  passionate  patriotism,  no 
longer  the  voice  of  Provence,  or  of  Paris,  but  the  voice  of 
France.  .  .  .  The  touching  story,  La  Derniere  Classe,  might  have 
come  from  the  lips  of  an  Alsatian,  so  true  is  it  to  the  spirit  of 
Alsace  during  those  sorrowful  days  that  followed  the  Franco- 
Prussian  War.— MARION  MC!NTYRE,  Introduction  to  Works. 

Daudet's  two  main  series  of  stories  (Letters  from  My  Mill  and 
Monday  Tales}  contain  between  sixty  and  seventy  pieces.  .  .  . 
They  represent  Daudet  the  poet,  with  his  exquisite  fancy,  his 
winning  charm,  his  subtle,  indescribable  style,  his  susceptibility 
to  all  that  is  lovely  and  joyous  in  nature  and  in  human  life; 
in  short,  in  his  sunny,  mercurial  Provengal  temperament.  .  .  . 
But  there  was  another  Daudet  more  or  less  superimposed  upon 
this  sunny,  poetic  Daudet,  true  child  of  Provence.  Upon  few 
Frenchmen  of  a  generation  ago  did  the  terrible  years  of  the 
Franco-Prussian  War  and  the  Commune  produce  a  more  sober- 
ing impression.  The  romanticist  and  poet  deepened  into  a  real- 
istic observer  of  human  life  in  all  its  phases. —  W.  P.  TRENT, 
Introduction  to  the  volume  on  Daudet,  in  Little  French  Master- 
pieces. 

The  charm  reflected  in  his  works  lay  in  the  man  himself,  and 


138  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

earned  for  him  a  host  of  friends  and  an  unclouded  domestic  life 
—  it  lay  in  his  open,  sunny,  inconsequent,  southern  nature,  with 
his  quick  sympathies,  his  irony  at  once  forcible  and  delicate,  his 
ready  tears.  It  lay  in  the  spontaneousness  of  his  talent,  in 
his  Provengal  gift  of  improvisation.  .  .  .  And  it  lay,  too,  in  what 
was  an  essential  characteristic  of  his  nature,  his  rapid  alternation 
of  mood.  Take  even  the  slightest  of  his  Conies  [stories],  .  .  . 
Within  a  few  pages  he  is  in  turn  sad,  gay,  sentimental,  ironical, 
pathetic,  and  one  mood  glides  into  the  next  without  jar  or  fric- 
tion.—  V.  M.  CRAWFORD,  Studies  in  Foreign  Literature. 

His  stories  first  of  all  amuse,  excite,  distress  himself.  .  „  . 
He  never  could,  indeed,  look  on  them  disinterestedly,  either  while 
they  were  making  or  when  they  were  made.  He  made  them 
with  actual  tears  and  laughter;  and  they  are  read  with  actual 
tears  and  laughter  by  the  crowd.  .  .  .  But  he  had  no  philosophy 
behind  his  fantastic  and  yet  only  too  probable  creations.  Caring, 
as  he  thought,  supremely  for  life,  he  cared  really  for  that  sur- 
prising, bewildering  pantomime  which  life  seems  to  be  to  those 
who  watch  its  coloured  movement,  its  flickering  lights,  its  chang- 
ing costumes,  its  powdered  faces,  without  looking  through  the 
eyes  into  the  hearts  of  the  dancers.  He  wrote  from  the  very 
midst  of  the  human  comedy ;  and  it  is  from  this  that  he  seems 
at  times  to  have  caught  the  bodily  warmth  and  the  taste  of  the 
tears  and  the  very  ring  of  the  laughter  of  men  and  women.  .  .  . 
*—  ARTHUR  SYMONS,  Studies  in  Prose  and  Verse. 


FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON  DAUDET 

Chats  about  Books,  Mayo  W.  Hazeltine  (1883); 
French  Fiction  of  To-day,  M.  S.  Van  de  Velde  (1891)  ; 
Alphonse  Daudet;  a  Biographical  and  Critical  Study,  R. 
H.  Sherard  (1894)  ;  The  Literary  Movement  in  France, 
Georges  Pellissier  (1897);  Literary  Likings,  Richard 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION 


139 


Burton  (1898)  ;  The  Historical  Novel,  Brander  Matthews 
(1901);  French  Profiles,  Edmund  W.  Gosse  (1905); 
Short-Story  Masterpieces,  J.  Berg  Esenwein  (1912). 

THE  LAST  CLASS 

(La  Derniere  Classe) 

THE  STORY  OF  A  LITTLE  ALSATIAN 

BY  ALPHONSE  DAUDET 

Translation  by  The  Editor 


That  morning  I  was  very  late  for 
school,  so  I  was  terribly  afraid  of  a 
scolding  —  particularly  since  Master 
Hamel  had  said  that  he  would  ex- 
amine us  on  participles,  and  I  knew 
not  the  first  word  about  them!  For 
a  little  while  I  thought  of  playing 
truant  and  wandering  the  fields. 

2.  The  day  was  so  warm,  so  clear ! 

3.  I     could     hear     the     blackbirds 
whistling  on  the  border  of  the  wood ; 
and  back  of  the  sawmill,  in  the  Rip- 
pert  field,  the  Prussian  soldiers  were 
drilling.    All  of  this  was  much  more 
tempting  to  me  than  participial  rules 
—  but  I  was  strong  enough  to  resist 
and  away  to  school  I  ran,  as  fast  as 
I  could. 

4.  As  I  passed  by  the  mayor's  office, 
I  observed  that  a  number  of  people 
were  assembled  before  the  little  board 
on  which  notices  were  generally  post- 
ed.    For    two    years    every   piece    of 
bad  news  had  come  from  that  board 


INTRODUCTION  plunges  us  at 
once  into  the  action. 
There  is  one  main  inci- 
dent throughout.  The  nar- 
rator is  immediately  seen 
to  be  a  child,  and  sur- 
mised to  be  a  boy. 


Setting.  Note  how  the  ru- 
ral community  is  sug- 
gested. 


Small       municipalities      hav* 
mayors,  in   France. 

The     tone     is     struck     hert 
Forecast   of  crisis. 


140 


STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 


1  —  defeats  in  battle,  conscriptions,  or- 
ders from  headquarters  —  and,  with- 
out stopping,  I  wondered : 

5.  "  What  can  it  be  this  time !  " 

6.  Just    then,    as    I    was    running 
across  the  square,  Wachter  the  black- 
smith, who  with  his  apprentice  stood 
reading  the  placard,  called  after  me: 

7.  "  You    needn't    hurry    so    fast, 
my    lad,    you'll    get    to    school    soon 
enough !  " 

8.  I  thought  he  was  making  game 
of  me,  and  I  kept  right  on,  reaching 
Master  Hamel's  little  yard  quite  out 
of  breath. 

9.  Ordinarily,  as  school  was  open- 
ing, the  uproar  was  so  great  that  it 
could  be  heard  clear  out  on  the  street 
—  desk-lids  opening  and  shutting,  les- 
sons droned  aloud  in  unison,  pupils 
holding  their  ears  shut  to  learn  their 

!  lessons    easier,    while    the    master's 
!  great  ferrule  beat  upon  the  desks : 

10.  "  A  little  quietness  !  " 

11.  I  had  counted  on  all  this  noise 
to  enable  me  to  reach  my  seat  unno- 
ticed;   but    on    that    particular    day 
everything  was  as  quiet  as  a  Sabbath 
morning.    Through  the  open  window 
I  saw  my  schoolmates  already  rang- 
ed in  their  places,  and  Master  Hamel 
pacing  to  and  fro,  his  formidable  iron 
ferrule  under  his  arm.     In  the  midst 
of   that   complete    silence    I    had   to 
open  the  door  and  go  in !     You  can 
well  imagine  whether  I  blushed  and 
was  afraid! 

12.  But,     quite     to     the     contrary, 
Master  Hamel  looked  at  me  with  no 


Franco-Prussian    War. 


Forecasts   a    crisis. 

Note  the  Prussian  name, 
Alsace  was  a  border  prov- 
ince. 

Hint  of  crisis  to  come. 
CONTRIBUTORY  INCIDENT. 


The   school    was   held    in    the 
master's   house. 

Unusual  air  depicted  by  con- 
trast. 
The   story   proper   begins. 

An  eld  custom. 


Contrast. 


Contrast 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION 


sign  of  anger,  and  then  very  gently 
said: 

13.  "  Go  directly  to  your  seat,  my 
little  Frantz  —  we  were  about  to  be- 
gin without  you." 

14.  Immediately  I  stepped  over  the 
bench    and    sat    down    at   my    desk. 
Only  then,  when  I  had  partly  gotten 
over  my  fright,   did  I  observe  that 
our   master   was   wearing   his   hand- 
some blue  riding-coat,  his  plaited  ruff, 
and     his     black     silk     embroidered 
breeches  —  worn    only   on   inspection 
days  or  when  prizes  were  awarded. 
Furthermore,    there    was    something 
extraordinary,      something     solemm, 
about   the   whole   school.    But   what 
astounded    me    more   than    anything 
else  was  to  see  a  number  of  people 
from    the    village    sitting,    as    silent 
as  we,  on  the  usually  empty  benches 
at  the  back  of  the  room:  old  Father 
Hauser  with  his  three-cornered  hat, 
the   ex-mayor,   the   former  postman, 
besides    a    number    of    others.    All 
seemed  cast  down,  and  Father  Haus- 
er   had    brought    with    him    an    old 
primer,     with     chewed     up     leaves, 
which    he    held    wide-open    up-side- 
down  on  his  knees,  and  lying  on  it 
his  huge  spectacles. 

15.  While  I  was  marvelling  at  all 
this,    Master    Hamel    had    mounted 
his  platform,  and  in  the  same  gentle 
and  serious  voice  with  which  he  had 
greeted  me,  he  said  to  us : 

16.  "My  children,  this  is  the  last 
day  that   I   shall   keep   school.    The 
order    has    come    from    Berlin    that 


Evidently    a    small    school. 


At    which    others    were    also 
seated. 

All   the  contrasts   prepare   us 
for   the   crisis. 


Prussian  name. 


Dazed. 


FOUNDATION  OP  CLIMAX. 
Summary  of  the  theme. 
Compare  with  Longfel- 
low's Evangeline. 


142 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


nothing  but  German  shall  be  taught 
in  the  schools  of  Alsace  and  Lor- 
raine. The  new  schoolmaster  will 
arrive  to-morrow.  This  is  the  last 
class  in  French  —  I  beg  of  you  to 
be  very  attentive  !  " 

17.  His  simple  words  overwhelmed 
me.     This,  then,  was  the  notice  they 
had  posted  at  the  mayor's  office.     Oh, 
the  scoundrels ! 

18.  My  last  lesson  in  French ! 

19.  And    I    was    scarcely    able    to 
write !     Then  I  was  never  to  learn ! 
I  must  stop  short  just  where  I  was! 
How  angry  with  myself  it  made  me 
to  remember  the  time  I  had  frittered 
away,  and  the  lessons  I  had  missed 
while  hunting  birds'  nests  or  sliding 
on  the  Saar !     My  books  now  seem- 
ed   to    me    like    old    comrades    from 
whom  it  broke  my  heart  to  part,  and 
only   a    moment   since   I    had   found 
them  — my  grammar,  my  sacred  his- 
tory—  so  dull,  and  so  heavy  to  carry! 
It  was  just  the  same  when  I  thought 
of    Master    Hamel.     He    was    goingf 
away.  I  should  never  see  him  again', 

—  the  thought  made  me  forget  all  his" 
punishments    and    strokes    with    the 
ferrule. 

20.  Poor  old  man!  So  it  was  in 
honor  of  that  last  lesson  in  French 
that  he  had  donned  his  Sunday  best 

—  and  now  I  understood  why  those 
old  folks  from  the  village  were  seat- 
ed at  the  back  of  the  room.     It  seem- 
ed to  say  they  regretted  that  they  had 
not  visited   the  school" oftener.     Be- 
sides, it  was  a  sort  of  way  of  thank- 


This    law    went    into    effect 
July    i,   1870. 


The  crisis  becomes  personal 


Scarcely  a  paragraph  but  ap 
peals  to  emotion  in  some 
form. 


The     Saar     flows     northward 
into  the  Moselle. 


Shift     to     interest     in     the 
Master. 


Now  to  the  villagers. 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION 


ing  our  teacher  for  his  forty  years 
of  devoted  service,  and  of  showing 
their  love  for  the  fatherland  which 
was  passing  away. 

21.  Just  at  this  point  in  my  reflec- 
tions   I    heard   my   name   called  —  it 
was  my  turn  to  recite.     Oh,  I  would 
have   given   anything   to   be   able   to 
recite    without    a    slip,    in    a    strong, 

!  clear  voice,  that  celebrated  rule  about 
I  participles ;  but  at  the  very  first 
words  I  grew  confused  and  I  only 
stood  there  at  my  bench  swaying 
back  and  forward,  my  heart  swelling, 
not  daring  to  lift  my  head.  At 
length  I  heard  Master  Hamel  saying 
to  me: 

22.  "My  little  Frantz,   I  shall  not 
scold  you ;  you  are  punished  enough, 
I  think.     It  is  so  with  all  of  us ;  every 
day  we  reassure  ourselves  :     '  Bah !     I 

•  have  plenty  of  time.  To-morrow  I 
\  shall  learn.'  Then  you  see  what  hap- 
pens. Alas!  it  has  ever  been  the 
great  misfortune  of  our  Alsace  to  de- 
fer its  lessons  until  the  morrow. 
And  now  these  people  are  justified  in 
saying  to  us,  '  What,  you  pretend  to 
be  French,  and  you  are  able  neither 
to  speak  nor  tc  write  your  language ! ' 
But  in  all  this  you  are  not  the  most 
guilty  one,  my  poor  Frantz  —  we  are 
all  worthy  of  a  full  measure  of  self- 
reproach. 

23.  "  Your  parents  have  not  taken 
enough  care  to  see  that  you  got  an 
education.    They  preferred  to  save  a 
few    more    sous    by   putting   you    to 
work  in  the  fields  or  in  the  factories. 


Age    indicated,    thus    adding 
to  the  pathos. 

THESE   ARE   THE   KEY  WORDS. 


Note  how  Daudet  arouses 
our  sympathies  by  avoid- 
ing generalities  and  cen- 
tering our  interest  upon 
persons. 


Ordinary  rebuke  is  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  great 
common  sorrow. 


Daudet  here  teaches  all 
France  a  lesson  —  and  all 
nations  as  well. 


144 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


And  I  —  have  I  nothing  for  which 
to  blame  myself?  Have  I  not  fre- 
quently sent  you  to  water  my  garden 
instead  of  keeping  you  at  your  books? 
Or  have  I  ever  hesitated  to  dismiss 
school  when  I  wanted  to  go  trout- 
fishing?" 

24.  So  Master  Hamel,  passing  from 
one  theme  to  another,  began  to  speak 
to    us    about   our    French    language. 
He  said  that  it  was  the  most  beauti- 
ful language  in  the  whole  world  — 
the  most  clear,  the  most  substantial; 
that  we  must  ever  cherish  it  among 
ourselves,   and   never    forget   it,   for 
when  a  nation  falls  into  bondage,  just 
so  long  as  it  clings  to  its  language,  it 
holds  the  key  of  its  prison.1 

25.  Then  he  took  a  grammar  and 
read  us  our  lesson.     I  was  astonished 
to    see    how    readily    I    understood! 
Everything  he  said  seemed  to  me  so 
easy  —  so  very  easy.    I  believe  that 
never   before   had    I    listened   so   at- 
tentively, and  that  he,  in  turn,  had 
never    explained    things    with    such 
infinite  patience.     It  almost  seemed  as 
though   the   poor    fellow    wished   to 
impart  all  his  knowledge  to  us  before, 
he  left  us  —  to  drive  it  all  into  our 
heads  with  one  blow. 

26.  The  lesson  ended,  we  went  on 
to  the  exercises  in  penmanship.    For 
that  day  Master  Hamel  had  gotten 
ready   some   entirely  new   copies   on 
which  he  had  written  in  a  neat,  round 
hand :  "  France,  Alsace,  France,  Al- 


Note      M.      Hamel's 
sincerity. 


simple 


The     attention     follows     the 
lead   of   the   emotions. 


So    does    the    teacher's    skill. 


Note   the   pathos    of    the   ap- 
peal. 


1  "  S'il  tient  sa  langue,  il  tient  la  cle  qui   de   ses  chaines  le  delivre."— 
FREDEKIC  MISTRAL,  a  poet  friend  of 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION 


145 


sace."  The  slips  of  paper  looked  like 
tiny  flags,  waving  all  about  the  room 
and  hanging  from  the  rods  of  our 
desks.  You  should  have  seen  how 
diligently  everyone  worked,  and  how 
quiet  it  was !  Only  the  scratching  of 
the  pens  over  the  paper  could  be 
heard.  COnce  some  beetles  flew  in,  but 
nobody  paid  any  attention  to  them  — 
not  even  the  very  smallest  chaps,  who 
were  struggling  to  draw  their  oblique 
lines  with  a  will  and  an  application 
as  sincere  as  though  even  the  lines 
themselves  were  French. 4  .  .  . 
Pigeons  cooed  in  low  tones  on  the 
roof  of  the  schoolhouse,  and  as  I 
listened  to  them  I  thought  to  my- 
self 

27.  "  I  wonder  if  they  are  going  to 
make  them  coo  in  German  too !  " 

28.  Now  and  then,  as  I  lifted  my 
eyes    from   my   task,    I    saw    Master 
Hamel  seated  motionless  in  his  chair, 
and  staring  at  things  about  him  as 
though  in  that  look  he  would  carry 
away    with    him    the    whole    of    his 
little  schoolhouse.     Think  of  it !    For 
forty  years  he  had  occupied  that  same 
place,  his  yard  in  front  of  him,  and 
his  school  always   unchanged.     Only 
the  benches  and  desks  were  rubbed  by 
use    until    they    were    polished;    the 
walnuts  in  the  yard  had  grown  large, 
and    the    hop-vine    he    himself    had 
planted  now  hung  in  festoons  from 
the  windows  clear  to  the  roof.     How 
heartbreaking  it  must  have  been  for 
that  poor  man  to  leave  all  this  —  to 
hear   his    sister   moving   to    and   fro 


A     proof     of     unusual     ab- 
sorption. 


A  picture.  All  of  these  con- 
tributory pictures  stand 
in  lieu  of  contributory  in- 
cidents. The  whole  is 
highly  unified. 


The  lad  reasons  as  a  lad  — 
to  him  the  pathos  is  not 
for  himself  but  for  the 
old  man. 


146 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


in  the  room  overhead  as  she  packed 
their  trunks !  Next  day  they  were 
going  away  —  to  leave  the  fatherland 
forever. 

29.  All  the  same,  he  had  the  cour- 
age to  keep  the  school  to  the  very 
closing    minute.    The    writing    over, 
we  had  our  lesson  in  history.    Then 
the  little  ones  sang  in   unison  their 
ba,  be,  bi,  bo,  bu.     Yonder,  at  the  back 
of  the  room,  old  Father  Hatiser  was 
holding  his  spelling-book  with   both 
hands,  and  with  the  aid  of  his  great 
spectacles  he  spelled  out  the  letters  — 
one  could  see  that  even  he  too  was 
applying  himself.     Emotion  shook  his 
voice,  and  to  hear  him  was  so  droll 
that  we  all  wanted  to  laugh  —  and  to 
cry.     Ah!    I   shall   always   remember 
that  last  class. 

30.  Suddenly     the     church     clock 
sounded  twelve.     Then  the  Angelus. 
At  the  same  instant  were  heard  under 
our   very   windows   the   trumpets   of 
the    Prussians    returning   from   drill. 
Pale   as    death,    Master   Hamel    rose 
.from  his  chair.     Never  had  he  seemed 
so  large. 

31.  "  My  friends,"  he  began  ;  "  my 
friends,  I  —  I  — " 

32.  But     something     choked     him. 
He  could  not  end  the  sentence. 

33.  Then  he  turned  to   the  black- 
board, seized  a  piece  of  chalk,  and, 
bearing    with    all    his    strength,    he 
wrote  in  the  largest  letters  he  could 
make : 

34.  "VIVE  LA  FRANCE!" 

—    Tj,on  ^p  stood  there,  his  head 


PREPARATION    FOR    CLIMAX. 
FORMAL      CRISIS  —  the      end 

approaches. 
Note  the  force  of  this. 


Moral     qualities 
physical. 


affect     the 


Note   the    intensity 


FULL  CLIMAX. 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  147 

leaning  against  the  wall,  and  without 
a    word    he    signed    to    us    with    his 
hand : 
36.  "It  is  the  end  ...  go!  " 

KIPLING  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

Joseph  Rudyard  Kipling  was  born  in  Bombay,  India, 
December  30,  1865,  of  English  parents,  his  father,  J. 
Lockwood  Kipling,  an  artist  of  ability,  having  been  in 
the  colonial  Civil  Service.  He  was  educated  at  the 
United  Services  College,  Devon,  but  returned  to  India  in 
1882  and  became  an  editorial  writer  and  correspondent. 
In  1889. he  began  extensive  travels.  For  several  years 
he  resided  in  Brattleboro,  Vermont,  but  returned  to  Eng- 
land and  settled  in  Rottingdean,  Sussex. 

Rudyard  Kipling  has  attained  celebrity  as  poet,  novel- 
ist, and  short-story  writer.  His  best-known  poems  are 
found  in  the  collections  entitled  Departmental  Ditties, 
Barrack-Room  Ballads,  The  Seven  Seas,  and  The  Five 
Nations.  Kim  is  his  ablest  novel.  The  two  "  Jungle 
Books ''  constitute  a  remarkable  collection  of  connected 
tales  of  the  jungle  folk.  His  best  short-stories  are  found 
in  the  following  volumes :  Soldiers  Three  (the  "  Mul- 
vaney  "  stories,  "  The  Man  Who  Was,"  etc.),  The  Phan- 
tom Rickshaw  ("  The  Man  Who  Would  be  King,"  "  The 
Strange  Ride  of  Morrowbie  Jukes,"  etc.),  Wee  Willie 
Winkle  and  Other  Stories  ("  The  Drums  Fore  and  Aft," 
"Under  the  Deodars,"  etc.),  The  Day's  Work  ("The 
Bridge  Builders,"  "The  Brushwood  Boy,"  etc.),  and 
Traffic  and  Diw**™**  ("  They."  etc.).  "Without 


148  STUDYING    THE    SHORT-STORY  ( 

Benefit  of  Clergy"  first  appeared  in  Macmillan's  Maga- 
zine (London)  in  June,  1890,  and  in  the  June  7th  and 
I4th,  1890,  numbers  of  Harper's  Weekly  (New  York). 
In  the  same  year  it  was  published  in  the  volume,  The 
Courting  of  Dinah  Shadd,  and  Other  Stories,  but  in  1891 
it  was  included  in  the  volume  Life's  Handicap:  being 
Stories  of  Mine  Own  People. 

Rudyard  Kipling  is  without  doubt  the  greatest  of  liv- 
ing short-story  writers,  though  in  interest  his  later  fiction 
does  not  equal  his  productions  of  the  early  nineties.  His 
journalistic  work  drilled  him  in  compression ;  his  pre- 
cocious intuitions  and  personal  experience  of  life  in 
India  opened  up  a  fresh  and  fascinating  field ;  his  genius 
taught  him  how  to  tell  his  stories  with  unfailing  variety, 
a  robust  humor,  and  an  understanding  of  the  human 
heart  quite  uncanny  in  one  so  young.  In  style,  he  is  a 
master  of  the  unexpected ;  in  narration,  he  is  by  turns 
deliberate  and  swift;  in  atmospheric  painting,  he  trans- 
ports us  to  real  places,  wherein  real  folk  do  real  things. 

Tell  them  first  of  those  things  that  thou  hast  seen  and  they 
have  seen  together.  Thus  their  knowledge  will  piece  out  thy  im- 
perfections. Tell  them  of  what  thou  alone  hast  seen,  then  what 
thou  hast  heard,  and  since  they  be  children  tell  them  of  battles 
and  kings,  horses,  devils,  elephants,  and  angels,  but  omit  not  to 
tell  them  of  love  and  such  like.  All  the  earth  is  full  of  tales 
to  him  who  listens  and  does  not  drive  away  the  poor  from  his 
door.  The  poor  are  the  best  of  tale-tellers;  for  they  must  lay 
their  ear  to  the  ground  every  night. —  RUDYARD  KIPLING,  Preface 
to  Life's  Handicap. 

The  tremulous  passion  of  Ameera,  her  hopes,  her  fears,  and 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  149 

her  agonies  of  disappointment,  combine  to  form  by  far  the  most 
tender  page  which  Mr.  Kipling  has  written. —  EDMUND  GOSSE, 
Questions  at  Issue. 

.  .  .  The  truly  appreciative  reader  should  surely  have  no  quar- 
rel with  the  primitive  element  in  Mr.  Kipling's  subject-matter, 
or  with  what,  for  want  of  a  better  name,  I  may  call  his  love  of 
low  life.  What  is  that  but  essentially  a  part  of  his  freshness? 
And  for  what  part  of  his  freshness  are  we  exactly  more  thankful 
than  for  just  this  smart  jostle  that  he  gives  the  old  stupid  super- 
stition that  the  amiability  of  a  story-teller  is  the  amiability  of 
the  people  he  represents  —  that  their  vulgarity,  or  depravity,  or 
gentility,  or  fatuity  are  tantamount  to  the  same  qualities  in  the 
painter  himself?  —  HENRY  JAMES,  Introduction  to  Works. 

It  was  not  until  "Without  Benefit  of  Clergy"  that  he  came 
to  his  full  strength  in  pathetic  prose.  The  history  of  Ameera  is 
one  of  the  triumphs  of  the  short  story.  Its  characterization  is 
vivid ;  its  progress  direct  and  poignant.  I  do  not  wish  even  for 
an  instant  to  seem  to  cheapen  one  of  the  most  touching  and 
beautiful  stories  in  the  world  when  I  call  it  journalism.  But 
the  voice  of  the  desolate  mother  breaking  into  the  nursery  rime 
of  the  wicked  crow, 

"  And  the  wild  plums  grow  in  the  jungle,  only  a  penny  a  pound, 
Only  a  penny  a  pound,  baba  —  only  — ," 

and  every  pathetic  moment,  is  chosen  by  an  inspired  sense  for 
what  would  most  feelingly  grasp  the  interest  of  the  reader.  This 
is  high  art,  with  intense  feeling  behind  it  —  otherwise  it  would 
not  be  so  excellent.  But  it  is  also  good  journalism. — HENRY 
SEIDEL  CANBY,  The  Short-Story  in  English. 

For  Mr.  Kipling  to  write  a  story  without  some  firm  human 
touch,  however  slight,  would  be  impossible.  ...  In  his  effects 
Mr.  Kipling  is  usually  photographic  ("cinematographic"  is  bet- 
ter), but  his  methods  are  almost  invariably,  for  want  of  a  better 
word,  "  artistic."  I  mean  that  whereas  the  principle  of  selection, 
which  is  a  vital  principle  of  art,  can  operate  but  little  in  pho- 


150  STUDYING    THE    SHORT-STORY 

tography,  it  is  seen  to  be  remarkably  active  in  all  Mr.  Kipling's 
best  work.  His  stories,  so  to  speak,  represent  the  epigram  of 
action,  the  epigram  of  a  given  situation.  ...  It  is  from  the 
lives  of  such  Englishmen  .  .  .  that  Mr.  Kipling  has  gathered  so 
many  of  his  vivid  anecdotes.  A  great  number  of  them  .  .  .  are 
the  lesser  lights  and  darks  contributing  to  such  more  serious 
elements  of  the  general  picture  as  "  At  the  End  of  the  Passage/' 
"  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy,"  "  In  Flood  Time,"  "  The  Man  Who 
Was,"  behind  which  looms  vast  in  the  background  the  image  of 
that  old  Sphinx  of  the  Plains  complete  in  mystery  as  no  other 
writer  has  ever  been  able  to  suggest  her.  .  .  .  Also  he  had  writ- 
ten at  least  one  love-story  ("Without  Benefit  of  Clergy")  that 
broke  one's  heart.  .  .  .  For  all  the  humour  and  buoyancy  of  his 
writings,  Mr.  Kipling  is  at  heart  a  pessimist,  and,  perhaps,  his 
sincerest  expression  of  opinion  in  regard  to  the  government  of 
the  universe  is  contained  in  the  fierce  Omarian  exclamation  of 
Holden  in  "Without  Benefit  of  Clergy,"  addressed  to  no  one  in 
particular,  but  evidently  meant  to  reach  far  up  into  the  skies : 
"  O  you  brute  !  You  utter  brute  !  "  So  Omar  bade  Allah  "  man's 
forgiveness  give  and  take." — RICHARD  LE  GALLIENNE,  Rudyard 
Kipling:  A  Criticism. 

FURTHER  REFERENCES   FOR   READING  ON  KIPLING 

Essays  in  Little,  Andrew  Lang  (1894)  ;  Cervantes, 
Zola,  Kipling  &  Co.,  in  Aspects  of  Modern  Fiction, 
Brander  Matthews  (1896)  ;  My  Contemporaries  in  Fic- 
tion, J.  D.  C.  Murray  (1897)  ;  A  Ken  of  Kipling,  Will 
M.  Clemens  (1899)  ;  Victorian  Novelists,  James  Oliphant 
(1899)  ;  A  Kipling  Primer,  F.  L.  Knowles  (1899)  ;  The 
Religion  of  Mr.  Kipling,  W.  B.  Parker  (1899)  ;  Rudyard 
Kipling,  A  Biographical  Sketch,  C.  E.  Norton  (1899), 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION 

FOR  ANALYSIS 
WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY 

BY    RUDYARD    KIPLING 


Before    my    Spring    I    garnered    Autumn's 

gain, 
Out   of  her  time   my   field    was   white    with 

grain, 

The  year  gave  up  her  secrets  to  my  woe. 
Forced  and  deflowered  each  sick  season  lay, 
In  mystery  of  increase  and  decay; 
I  saw  the  sunset  ere  men  saw  the  day, 
Who   am   too   wise  in  that  I   should  not 
know. 

Bitter  Waters. 


"But  if  it  be  a  girl?" 

2.  "  Lord  of  my  life,  it  cannot  be. 
I   have  prayed   for  so   many  nights, 
and  sent  gifts  to  Sheikh  Badl's  shrine 
so  often,  that  I  know  God  will  give 
us    a    son  —  a    man-child    that    shall 
grow  into  a  man.    Think  of  this  and 
be   glad.    My    mother    shall    be   his 
mother  till  I  can  take  him  again,  and 
the    mullah    of    the    Pattan    mosque 
shall  cast  his  nativity  —  God  send  he 
be    born    in   an    auspicious    hour !  — 
and  then,  thou  wilt  never  weary  of 
me,  thy  slave." 

3.  "  Since  when  hast  thou  been  a 
slave,   my   queen  ?  " 

4.  "Since  the  beginning  —  till  this 
mercy  came  to  me.     How  could  I  be 
sure  of  thy  love  when  I  knew  that 
I  had  been  bought  with  silver?" 


152  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

5.  "  Nay,  that   was   the   dowry.    I 
paid  it  to  thy  mother." 

6.  "  And  she  has  buried  it,  and  sits 
upon    it    all    day    long    like    a    hen. 
What  talk  is  yours  of  dower !     I  was 
bought  as  though  I  had  been  a  Luck- 
now  dancing-girl  instead  zl  „  cniid." 

7.  "  Art  thou  sorry  for  the  sale  ?  " 

8.  "  I    have   sorrowed ;   but  to-day 
I  am  glad.     Thou  wilt  never  cease  to 
love  me  now  ?  —  answer,  my  king." 

9.  "  Never  —  never.     No." 

10.  "Not   even   though   the   mem- 
log  —  the  white  women  of  thy  own 
blood  —  love   thee?    And    remember, 
I  have  watched  them  driving  in  the 
evening;  they  are  very  fair." 

11.  "I  have  seen  fire-ballons  by  the 
hundred.     I  have  seen  the  moon,  and 
—  then  I  saw  no  more  fire-balloons." 

12.  Ameera  clapped  her  hands  and 
laughed.     "  Very  good  talk,"  she  said. 
Then  with   an   assumption   of  great 
stateliness:      "It    is    enough.    Thou 
hast   my    permission    to    depart  —  if 
thou  wilt." 

13.  The   man   did   not   move.    He 
was   sitting  on   a  low   red-lacquered 
couch  in  a  room  furnished  only  with 
a  blue   and   white   floor-cloth,   some 
rugs,  and  a  very  complete  collection 
of  native  cushions.    At  his  feet  sat 
a  woman  of  sixteen,  and  she  was  all 
but  all   the  world   in  his   eyes.    By 
every  rule  and  law  she  should  have 
been  otherwise,  for  he  was  an  Eng- 
lishman,    and     she     a     Mussulman's 
daughter    bought    two    years    before 
from    her    mother,    who,    being    left 


STORIES   OF    EMOTION  153 


without  money,  would  have  sold 
Ameera  shrieking  to  the  Prince  of 
Darkness  if  the  price  had  been  suf- 
ficient. 

14.  It  was  a  contract  entered  into 
with  a  light  heart ;  but  even  before 
the  girl  had  reached  her  bloom  she 
came  to  fill  the  greater  portion  of 
John  Holden's  life.  For  her,  and 
the  withered  hag,  her  mother,  he  had 
taken  a  little  house  overlooking  the 
great  red-walled  city,  and  found  — 
when  the  marigolds  had  sprung  up  by 
the  well  in  the  courtyard  and  Ame- 
era had  established  herself  according 
to  her  own  ideas  of  comfort,  and  her 
mother  had  ceased  grumbling  at  the 
inadequacy  of  the  cooking-places,  the 
distance  from  the  daily  market,  and 
at  matters  of  housekeeping  in  gen- 
eral —  that  the  house  was  to  him  his 
home.  Any  one  could  enter  his 
bachelor's  bungalow  by  day  or  night, 
and  the  life  that  he  led  there  was  an 
unlovely  one.  In  the  house  in  the 
city  his  feet  only  could  pass  beyond 
the  outer  courtyard  to  the  women's 
rooms ;  and  when  the  big  wooden 
gate  was  bolted  behind  him  he  was 
king  in  his  own  territory,  with  Ame- 
era for  queen.  And  there  was  going 
to  be  added  to  this  kingdom  a  third 
person  whose  arrival  Holden  felt  in- 
clined to  resent.  It  interfered  with 
his  perfect  happiness.  It  disar- 
ranged the  orderly  peace  of  the 
house  that  was  his  own.  But  Ame- 
era was  wild  with  delight  at  the 
thought  of  it,  and  her  mother  not 


154  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STOR1: 

less  so.  The  love  of  a  man,  and 
particularly  a  white  man,  was  at  the 
best  an  inconstant  affair,  but  it 
might,  both  women  argued,  be  held 
fast  by  a  baby's  hands.  "  And  then," 
Ameera  would  always  say,  "then  he 
will  never  care  for  the  white  mem- 
log.  I  hate  them  all  —  I  hate  them 
all." 

15.  "He  will  go  back  to  his  own 
people    in    time,"    said    the    mother; 
"but    by    the   blessing   of    God    that 
time  is  yet  afar  off." 

16.  Holden  sat  silent  on  the  couch 
thinking    of     the     future,     and     his 
thoughts     were    not    pleasant.    The 
drawbacks  of  a  double  life  are  mani- 
fold.   The   Government,  with  singu- 
lar care,  had  ordered  him  out  of  the 
station    for    a    fortnight    on    special 
duty  in  the  place  of  a  man  who  was 
watching  by   the   bedside   of  a   sick 
wife.     The  verbal  notification  of  the 
transfer  had  been  edged  by  a  cheerful 
remark  that  Holden  ought  to  think 
himself    lucky    in    being    a   bachelor 
and  a  free  man.    He  came  to  break 
the  news  to  Ameera. 

17.  "  It    is    not    good,"    she    said 
slowly,     "but    it     is     not     all     bad. 
There   is    my   mother   here,   and   no 
harm  will  come  to  me  —  unless  in- 
deed I  die  of  pure  joy.     Go  thou  to 
thy  work  and  think  no  troublesome 
thoughts.    When  the  days  are  done 
I  believe  .  .  .  nay,  I  am  sure.    And 
—  and  then   I   shall  lay  him   in   thy 
arms,  and  thou  wilt  love  me  forever. 
The  train  goes  to-night,  at  midnight 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION 

is  it  not?  Go  now,  and  do  not  let 
thy  heart  be  heavy  by  cause  of  me. 
.But  thou  wilt  not  delay  in  returning? 
Thou  wilt  not  stay  on  the  road  to 
talk  to  the  bold  white  mem-log. 
Come  back  to  me  swiftly,  my  life." 

18.  As  he  left  the  courtyard  to 
reach  his  horse  that  was  tethered  to 
the  gate-post,  Holden  spoke  to  the 
white-haired  old  watchman  who 
guarded  the  house,  and  bade  him 
under  certain  contingencies  despatch 
the  filled-up  telegraph-form  that  Hol- 
den gave  him.  It  was  all  that  could 
be  done,  and  with  the  sensations  of 
a  man  who  has  attended  his  own 
funeral  Holden  went  away  by  the 
night  mail  to  his  exile.  Every  hour 
of  the  day  he  dreaded  the  arrival  of 
the  telegram,  and  every  hour  of  the 
night  he  pictured  to  himself  the  death 
of  Ameera.  In  consequence  his  work 
for  the  state  was  not  of  first-rate 
quality,  nor  was  his  temper  towards 
his  colleagues  of  the  most  amiable. 
The  fortnight  ended  without  a  sign 
from  his  home,  and,  torn  to  pieces 
by  his  anxieties,  Holden  returned  to 
be  swallowed  up  for  two  precious 
hours  by  a  dinner  at  the  club,  where- 
in he  heard,  as  a  man  hears  in  a 
swoon,  voices  telling  him  how  execra- 
bly he  had  performed  the  other  man's 
duties,  and  how  he  had  endeared 
himself  to  all  his  associates.  Then 
he  fled  on  horseback  through  the 
night  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth. 
There  was  no  answer  at  first  to  his 
blows  on  the  gate,  and  he  had  just 


156  -STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

wheeled  his  horse  round  to  kick  it  in 
when  Pir  Khan  appeared  with  a  lan- 
tern and  held  his  stirrup. 

19.  "Has    aught    occurred?"    said 
Holden. 

20.  "  The  news  does  not  come  from 
my   mouth,    Protector   of   the    Poor, 
but — "    He    held    out    his    shaking 
hand  as  befitted  the  bearer  of  good 
news  who  is  entitled  to  a  reward. 

21.  Holden    hurried    through    the 
courtyard.    A  light  burned  in  the  up- 
per room.    His  horse  neighed  in  the 
gateway,  and  he  heard  a  shrill  little 
wail  that  sent  all  the  blood  into  the 
apple  of  his  throat.    It  was  a  new 
voice,    but    it    did    not    prove    that 
Ameera  was  alive. 

22.  "Who  is  there?"  he  called  up 
the  narrow  brick  staircase. 

23.  There  was  a  cry  of  delight  from 
Ameera,  and  then  the  voice  of  the 
mother,  tremulous  with  old  age  and 
pride  — "  We   be   two   women  and  — 
•the  man  —  thy  —  son." 

24.  On  the  threshold  of  the  room 
Holden  stepped  on  a  naked  dagger, 
that  was  laid  there  to  avert  ill-luck, 
and  it  broke  at  the  hilt  under  his  im- 
patient heel. 

25.  "  God  is  great !  "  cooed  Ameera 
in  the  half-light.    "  Thou  hast  taken 
his  misfortunes  on  thy  head." 

26.  "Ay,  but  how  is  it  with  thee, 
life  of  my  life?     Old  woman,  how  is 
it  with  her?  " 

27.  "  She  has  forgotten  her  suffer- 
ings for  joy  that  the  child  is  born. 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  157 


There  is  no  harm;  but  speak  softly," 
said  the  mother. 

28.  "  It  only  needed  thy  presence  to 
make    me    all    well,"    said    Ameera. 
"  My  king,  thou  hast  been  very  long 
away.     What  gifts  hast  thou  for  me? 
Ah,  ah!     It  is  I  that  bring  gifts  this 
time.     Look,     my     life,     look!     Was 
there  ever  such  a  babe?     Nay,  I  am 
too  weak  even  to  clear  my  arm  from 
him." 

29.  "  Rest   then,   and    do   not   talk. 
I  am  here,  bachari   [little  woman]." 

30.  "  Well  said,  for  there  is  a  bond 
and  a  heel-rope  [peecharee]  between 
us  now  that  nothing  can  break.    Look 
—  canst  thou  see  in  this  light?     He 
is    without   spot   or  blemish.     Never 
was  such  a  man-child.     Ya  illah!  he 
shall  be  a  pundit  —  no,  a  trooper  of 
the  Queen.     And,  my  life,  dost  thou 
love  me  as  well  as  ever,  though  I  am 
faint    and    sick   and   worn?    Answer 
truly." 

31.  "  Yea.     I  love  as  I  have  loved, 
with    all    my    soul.     Lie    still,    pearl, 
and  rest." 

32.  "  Then  do  not  go.     Sit  by  my 
side  here  —  so.     Mother,  the  lord  of 
this   house   needs   a   cushion.     Bring 
it."    There    was    an    almost    imper- 
ceptible movement  on  the  part  of  the 
new   life  that  lay  in  the  hollow   of 
Ameera's    arm.    "  Aho ! "    she    said, 
her  voice  breaking  with  love.    "  The 
babe  is  a  champion  from  his  birth. 
He  is  kicking  me  in  the  side  with 
mighty  kicks.     Was  there  ever  such 
a    babe !     And   he    is    ours    to    us  — 


158  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STOR" 

thine  and  mine.  Put  thy  hand  on  his 
head,  but  carefully,  for  he  is  very 
young,  and  men  are  unskilled  in  such 
matters." 

33.  Very  cautiously  Holden  touchec. 
with  the  tips  of  his  fingers  the  downy 
head. 

34.  "  He  is  of  the  faith,"  said  Ame 
era ;    "  for   lying  here   in   the   night- 
watches  I  whispered  the  Call  to  Pray- 
er and  the  Profession  of  Faith  into 
his  ears.    And  it  is  most  marvellous 
that  he  was  born  upon  a  Friday,  as 
I  was  born.     Be  careful  of  him,  my 
life;  but  he  can  almost  grip  with  his 
hands." 

35.  Holden  found  one  helpess  little 
hand  that  closed  feebly  on  his  finger. 
And  the  clutch  ran  through  his  body 
till   it   settled   about   his   heart.     Till 
then  his  sole  thought  had  been   for 
Ameera.    He   began   to   realise   that 
there  was  some  one  else  in  the  world, 
but  he  could  not  feel  that  it  was  a 
veritable   son   with   a   soul.    He   sat 
down   to   think,   and   Ameera   dozed 
lightly. 

36.  "  Get    hence,    sahib,"    said    her 
mother  under  her  breath.     "  It  is  not 
good  that  she  should  find  you  here 
on  waking.     She  must  be  still." 

37.  "  I    go,"    said    Holden    submis- 
sively.   "  Here   be   rupees.     See  that 
my  baba  gets  fat  and  finds  all  that 
he  needs." 

38.  The  chink  of  the  silver  roused 
Ameera.     "  I  am  his  mother,  and  no 
hireling,"    she    said    weakly.     "  Shall 
T  look  to  him  more  or  less  for  the 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  1 59 


sake    of    money?     Mother,    give    it 
back.     I  have  borne  my  lord  a  son." 

39.  The    deep    sleep    of    weakness 
came   upon   her  before  the  sentence 
was  completed.    Holden  went  down 
to  the  courtyard  very  softly,  with  his 
heart   at   ease.     Pir    Khan,    the    old 
watchman,    was    chuckling   with    de- 
light.    "  This  house  is  now  complete," 
he  said,  and  without  further  comment 
thrust  into  Holden's  hands  the  hilt 
of    a    sabre    worn    many    years    ago 
when  he,  Pir  Khan,  served  the  Queen 
in  the  police.    The  bleat  of  a  tethered 
goat  came  from  the  well-curb. 

40.  "There     be     two,"     said     Pir 
Khan,    "  two    goats    of    the    best.    I 
bought    them,    and    they    cost    much 
money;  and  since  there  is  no  birth- 
party  assembled  their  flesh  will  be  all 
mine.     Strike     craftily,     sahib!    Tis 
an    ill-balanced    sabre    at    the    best. 
Wait  till  they  raise  their  heads  from 
cropping  the  marigolds." 

41.  "And  why?"  said  Holden,  be- 
wildered. 

42.  "  For  the  birth-sacrifice.     What 
else?     Otherwise  the  child  being  un- 
guarded   from    fate    may    die.    The 
Protector    of    the    Poor    knows    the 
fitting  words  to  be  said." 

43.  Holden  had  learned  them  once 
with  little  thought  that  he  would  ever 
speak   them   in    earnest.    The   touch 
of  the  cold  sabre-hilt  in  his  palm  turn- 
ed  suddenly  to  the  clinging  grip   of 
the    child    up-stairs  —  the   child   that 
was  his  own  son  —  and  a   dread  of 
loss  filled  him. 


l6o  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

44.  "  Strike ! "      said      Pir      Khan. 
"  Never  life  came  into  the  world  but 
life  was  paid  for  it.     See,  the  goats 
have      raised      their      heads.     Now! 
With  a  drawing  cut !  " 

45.  Hardly  knowing  what  he   did, 
Holden    cut    twice    as    he    muttered 
the  Mohammedan  prayer  that  runs: 
"Almighty!  In  place  of  this  my  son 
I  offer  life  for  life,  blood  for  blood, 
head  for  head,  bone  for  bone,  hair 
for  hair,  skin  for  skin."    The  wait- 
ing  horse    snorted    and   bounded    in 
his  pickets  at  the  smell  of  the  raw 
blood    that    spirted    over    Holden's 
riding-boots. 

46.  "  Well      smitten ! "     said      Pir 
Khan,  wiping  the  sabre.     "  A  swords- 
man  was   lost  in   thee.    Go   with   a 
light  heart,  heaven-born.    I   am  thy 
servant,  and  the  servant  of  thy  son. 
May   the   Presence   live   a   thousand 
years  and  .  .  .  the  flesh  of  the  goats 
is  all  mine?"     Pir  Khan  drew  back 
richer    by    a    month's    pay.     Holden 
swung  himself  into   the   saddle   and 
rode    off    through    the    low-hanging 
wood-smoke  of  the  evening.     He  was 
full  of  riotous  exultation,  alternating 
with  a  vast  vague  tenderness  directed 
towards    no    particular    object,    that 
made  him  choke  as  he  bent  over  the 
neck  of  his  uneasy  horse.     "  I  never 
felt  like  this  in  my  life,"  he  thought. 
"I'll  go  to  the  club  and  pull  myself 
together." 

47.  A  game  of  pool  was  beginning, 
and    the    room    was     full    of    men. 
Holden  entered,  eager  to  get  to  the 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  l6l 


light  and  the  company  of  his  fellows, 
singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice : 

" '  In    Baltimore    a-walking,    a    lady    I    did 
meet!  *  ' 

48.  "Did    you?"    said    the    club- 
secretary  from  his  corner.    "  Did  she 
happen  to   tell  you  that  your   boots 
were  wringing  wet  ?     Great  goodness, 
man,  it's  blood  !  " 

49.  "  Bosh !  "  said  Holden,  picking 
his  cue  from  the  rack.    "  May  I  cut 
in?     It's      dew.    I've      been      riding 
through    high   crops.     My    faith,    my 
boots  are  in  a  mess,  though !  " 

" '  And  if  it  be  a  girl   she  shall   wear  a 

wedding-ring, 
And  if  it  be  a  boy  he  shall  fight  for  his 

king, 
With  his  dirk,  and  his  cap,  and  his  little 

jacket  blue, 
He  shall  walk   the  quarter-deck  — '  " 

51.  "Yellow  on  blue  — green  next 
player,"    said    the    marker    monoto- 
nously. 

52.  "He   shall   walk    the    quarter- 
deck'—Am  I  green,  marker?— '#> 
shall    walk     the    quarter-deck' — eh! 
that's    a   bad    shot— 'As   his   daddy 
used  to  do!'" 

53.  "  I  don't  see  that  you  have  any- 
thing to  crow  about,"  said  a  zealous 
junior  civilian  acidly.    "The  Govern- 
ment is  not  exactly  pleased  with  your 
work  when  you  relieved  Sanders." 

54.  "  Does    that    mean    a    wigging 
from    headquarters  ? "    said    Holden 


l62  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

with   an  abstracted  smile.    "  I   think 
I  can  stand  it." 

55.  The    talk    beat    up    round    the 
ever-fresh     subject    of    each     man's 
work,  and  steadied  Holden  till  it  was 
time  to  go  to  his  dark  empty  bun- 
galow, where  his  butler  received  him 
as    one    who    knew    all    his    affairs. 
Holden     remained     awake     for     the 
greater   part   of  the   night,   and   his 
dreams  were  pleasant  ones. 

II 

56.  "  How  old  is  he  now  ?  " 

57.  "  Ya     illah!    What     a     man's 
question!     He   is  all   but   six  weeks 
old;   and  on  this  night  I  go  up  to 
the  housetop  with  thee,  my  life,  to 
count  the  stars.    For  that  is  auspi- 
cious.   And  he  was  born  on  a  Friday 
under  the  sign  of  the  Sun,  and  it  has 
been  told  to  me  that  he  will  outlive 
us    both    and    get    wealth.     Can    we 
wish  for  aught  better,  beloved  ?  " 

58.  "There  is  nothing  better.    Let 
us  go  up  to  the  roof,  and  thou  shalt 
count  the  stars  —  but  a  few  only,  for 
the  sky  is  heavy  with  cloud." 

59.  "  The  winter  rains  are  late,  and 
maybe    they    come    out    of    season. 
Come,  before  all  the   stars  are  hid. 
I  have  put  on  my  richest  jewels." 

60.  "Thou  hast  forgotten  the  best 
of  all." 

61.  "Ail    Ours.    He    comes    also. 
He  has  never  yet  seen  the  skies." 

62.  Ameera    climbed    the    narrow 
staircase   that   led   to   the    flat   roof. 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  163 


The  child,  placid  and  unwinking,  lay 
in  the  hollow  of  her  right  arm,  gor- 
geous in  silver-fringed  muslin  with  a 
small  skull-cap  on  his  head.  Ameera 
wore  all  that  she  valued  most.  The 
diamond  nose-stud  that  takes  the 
place  of  the  Western  patch  in  draw- 
ing attention  to  the  curve  of  the  nos- 
tril, the  gold  ornament  in  the  centre 
of  the  forehead  studded  with  tallow- 
drop  emeralds  and  flawed  rubies,  the 
heavy  circlet  of  beaten  gold  that  was 
fastened  round  her  neck  by  the  soft- 
ness of  the  pure  metal,  and  the 
chinking  curb-patterned  silver  anklets 
hanging  low  over  the  rosy  ankle- 
bone.  She  was  dressed  in  jade-green 
muslin  as  befitted  a  daughter  of  the 
Faith,  and  from  shoulder  to  elbow 
and  elbow  to  wrist  ran  bracelets  of 
silver  tied  with  floss  silk,  frail  glass 
bangles  slipped  over  the  wrist  in 
proof  of  the  slenderness  of  the  hand, 
and  certain  heavy  gold  braclets  that 
had  no  part  in  her  country's  orna- 
ments but,  since  they  were  Holden's 
gift  and  fastened  with  a  cunning 
European  snap,  delighted  her  im- 
mensely. 

63.  They    sat    down    by    the    low 
white  parapet  of  the  roof,  overlook- 
ing the  city  and  its  lights. 

64.  "They  are  happy  down  there," 
said  Ameera.     "  But  I  do  not  think 
that  they  are  as  happy  as  we.     Nor 
do  I  think  the  white  mem-log  are  as 
happy.     And  thou  ?  " 

65.  "  I  know  they  are  not." 

66.  "  How  dost  thou  know?  " 


164  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

67.  "  They  give  their  children  over 
to  the  nurses." 

"  I  have  never  seen  that/'  said 
Ameera  with  a  sigh,  "nor  do  I  wish 
to  see.  A  hi!" — she  dropped  her 
head  on  Holden's  shoulder  — "  I  have 
counted  forty  stars,  and  I  am  tired. 
Look  at  the  child,  love  of  my  life, 
he  is  counting  too." 

68.  The    baby    was    staring    with 
round  eyes  at  the  dark  of  the  heavens. 
Ameera  placed  him  in  Holden's  arms, 
and  he  lay  there  without  a  cry. 

69.  "  What  shall  we  call  him  among 
ourselves  ?  "  she  said.     "  Look !     Art 
thou  ever  tired  of  looking?    He  car- 
ries thy  very  eyes.     But  the  mouth 

70.  "  Is    thine,    most    dear.    Who 
should  know  better  than  I  ?  " 

71.  "  'Tis  such  a  feeble  mouth.    Oh, 
so  small !     And  yet  it  holds  my  heart 
between    its    lips.    Give   him    to    me 
now.    He  has  been  too  long  away." 

72.  "  Nay,  let  him  lie ;  he  has  not 
yet  begun  to  cry." 

73.  "  When  he  cries  thou  wilt  give 
him    back  — eh?     What    a    man    of 
mankind  thou   art!     If  he   cried  he 
were  only  the  dearer  to  me.    But,  my 
life,  what  little  name  shall  we  give 
him  ?  " 

74.  The   small   body   lay   close   to 
Holden's  heart.    It  was  utterly  help- 
less and  very  soft    He  scarcely  dared 
to  breathe   for   fear  of  crushing  it. 
The  caged   green  parrot  that  is   re- 
garded as  a  sort  of  guardian  spirit  in 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  165 


most  native  households  moved  on  its 
perch  and  fluttered  a  drowsy  wing. 

75.  "  There    is    the    answer,"    said 
Holden.    "  Mian    Mittu    has    spoken. 
He  shall  be  the  parrot.    When  he  is 
ready  he  will  talk  mightily  and  run 
about.    Mian  Mittu  is  the  parrot  in 
thy  —  in  the  Mussulman  tongue,  is  it 
not?" 

76.  "  Why  put  me  so  far  off?  "  said 
Ameera    fretfully.    "Let    it    be    like 
unto   some   English   name  —  but  not 
wholly.    For  he  is  mine." 

77.  "Then  call  him  Tota,  for  that 
is  likest  English." 

78.  "  Ay,  Tota,  and  that  is  still  the 
parrot.    Forgive  me,  my  lord,  for  a 
minute  ago,  but  in  truth  he  is  too 
little  to  wear  all  the  weight  of  Mian 
Mittu  for  name.    He  shall  be  Tota  — 
our    Tota   to    us.    Hearest    thou,    O 
small  one?    Littlest,  thou  art  Tota." 
She  touched  the  child's  cheek,  and  he 
waking,  wailed,  and  it  was  necessary 
to    return   him   to  his   mother,   who 
soothed     him    with     the     wonderful 
rhyme  of  "Are  koko,  Jare  koko!'' 
which  says : 

*'  Oh,    crow!     Go    crow!     Baby's    sleeping 

sound, 
And  the  wild  plums  grow  in  the  jungle, 

only  a  penny  a  pound, 
Only    a    penny    a    pound,    baba,    only    a 

penny  a  pound." 

79.  Reassured    many    times    as    to 
the  price  of  those  plums,  Tota  cud- 
dled himself  down  to  sleep.    The  two 
sleek,    white     well-bullocks    in    the 


l66  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

courtyard  were  steadily  chewing  the 
cud  of  their  evening  meal;  old  Pir 
Khan  squatted  at  the  head  of  Hold- 
en's  horse,  his  police  sabre  across 
his  knees,  pulling  drowsily  at  a  big 
water-pipe  that  croaked  like  a  bull- 
frog in  a  pond.  Ameera's  mother  sat 
spinning  in  the  lower  veranda,  and 
the  wooden  gate  was  shut  and  barred. 
The  music  of  a  marriage-procession 
came  to  the  roof  above  the  gentle 
hum  of  the  city,  and  a  string  o£  fly- 
ing-foxes crossed  the  face  of  the  low 
moon. 

80.  "  I  have  prayed,"  said  Ameera, 
after  a  long  pause,  "  I  have  prayed 
for  two  things.    First  that  I  may  die 
in  thy  stead  if  thy  death  is  demand- 
ed, and  in  the  second  that  I  may  die 
in    the    place    of   the   child.     I    have 
prayed  to  the  Prophet  and  to  Beebee 
Miriam   [the  Virgin  Mary].    Think- 
est  thou  either  will  hear?" 

81.  "  From  thy  lips  who  would  not 
hear  the  lightest  word?" 

82.  "  I  asked  for  straight  talk,  and 
thou  hast  given  me  sweet  talk.     Will 
my  prayers  be  heard?" 

83.  "  How  can  I  say  ?     God  is  very 
good." 

84.  "  Of  that  I  am  not  sure.    Lis- 
ten now.    When  I  die,  or  the  child 
dies,  what  is  thy  fate?     Living,  thou 
wilt  return  to  the  bold  white  mem- 
log,  for  kind  calls  to  kind." 

85.  "  Not  always." 

86.  "  With   a   woman,   no ;   with   a 
man    it   is   otherwise.     Thou   wilt   in 
this  life,  later  on,  go  back  to  thine 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  167 


own  folk.  That  I  could  almost  en- 
dure for  I  should  be  dead.  But  in 
thy  very  death  thou  wilt  be  taken 
away  to  a  strange  place  and  a  para- 
dise that  I  do  not  know." 

87.  "Will  it  be  paradise?" 

88.  "  Surely,  for  who  would  harm 
thee?     But  we  two  —  I  and  the  child 
—  shall   be   elsewhere,   and   we   can- 
not come  to  thee,  nor  canst  thou  come 
to   us.     In  the  old  days,  before  the 
child  was  born,  I   did  not  think  of 
these    things;    but    now    I    think    of 
them  always.     It  is  very  hard  talk." 

89.  "  It  will  fall  as  it  will  fall.     To- 
morrow we  do  not  know,  but  to-day 
and  love  we  know  well.     Surely  we 
are  happy  now." 

90.  "  So  happy  that  it  were  well  to 
make    our    happiness    assured.    And 
thy  Beebee  Miriam  should  listen  to 
me ;   for  she  is  also  a  woman.     But 
then  she  would  envy  me!     It  is  not 
seemly  for  men  to  worship  a  woman." 

91.  Holden  laughed  aloud  at  Aine- 
era's  little  spasm  of  jealousy. 

92.  "Is  it  not  seemly?     Why  didst 
thou  not  turn  me  from  worship  of 
thee,  then  ?  " 

93.  "  Thou  a  worshipper !     And  of 
me?    My    king,    for    all    thy    sweet 
words,   well   I   know  that  I  am  thy 
servant  and  thy  slave,  and  the  dust 
under   thy    feet.     And    I    would    not 
have  it  otherwise.     See  !  " 

94.  Before    Holden    could    prevent 
her      she       stooped       and       touched 
his   feet;    recovering  herself  with   a 
little  laugh  she  hugged  Tota  close  to 


168  STUDYING   THE  SHORT-STORY 

her  bosom.    Then,  almost  savagely: 

95.  "  Is  it  true  that  the  bold  white 
mem-log    live    for    three    times    the 
length   of  my   life?    Is  it  true  that 
they  make  their  marriages  not  before 
they  are  old  women  ?  " 

96.  "  They   marry   as   do   others  — 
when  they  are  women." 

97.  "  That   I   know,  but  they   wed 
when    they  are   twenty-five.     Is  that 
true?" 

98.  "  That  is  true." 

99-  "  Ya  tllah!  At  twenty-five! 
Who  would  of  his  own  will  take  a 
wife  even  of  eighteen?  She  is  a 
woman  —  aging  every  hour.  Twenty- 
five  !  I  shall  be  an  old  woman  at 
that  age,  and  — those  mem-log  re- 
main young  forever.  How  I  hate 
them!" 

100.  "What  have  they  to  do  with 
us?" 

101.  "  I   cannot  tell.     I  know  only 
that  there  may  now  be  alive  on  this 
earth  a  woman  ten  years  older  than 
I  who  may  come  to  thee  and  take  thy 
love    ten   years    after    I   am   an    old 
woman,  gray-headed,  and  the  nurse 
of  Tota's   son.    That  is   unjust  and 
evil.    They  should  die  too." 

102.  "Now,  for  all  thy  years  thou 
art  a  child,  and  shalt  be  picked  up 
and  carried  down  the  staircase." 

103.  "Tota!       Have    a    care    for 
Tota,  my  lord !    Thou  at  least  art  as 
foolish  as  any  babe !  "    Ameera  tuck- 
ed Tota  out  of  harm's  way  in  the  hol- 
low  of   her   neck,   and   was   carried 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  169 


downstairs  laughing  in  Holden's 
arms,  while  Tota  opened  his  eyes  and 
smiled  after  the  manner  of  the  lesser 
angels. 

104.  He  was  a  silent  infant,  and  al- 
most before  Holden  could  realise  that 
he  was  in  the  world,  developed  into 
a  small  gold-coloured  little  god  and 
unquestioned  despot  of  the  house 
overlooking  the  city.  Those  were 
months  of  absolute  happiness  to 
Holden  and  Ameera  —  happiness 
withdrawn  from  the  world,  shut  in 
behind  the  wooden  gate  that  Pir 
Khan  guarded.  By  day  Holden  did 
his  work  with  an  immense  pity  for 
such  as  were  not  so  fortunate  as 
himself,  and  a  sympathy  for  small 
children  that  amazed  and  amused 
many  mothers  at  the  little  station 
gatherings.  At  nightfall  he  returned 
to  Ameera  —  Ameera,  full  of  the 
wondrous  doings  of  Tota ;  how  he 
had  been  seen  to  clap  his  hands  to- 
gether and  move  his  fingers  with  in- 
tention and  purpose  —  which  was 
manifestly  a  miracle;  how,  later,  he 
had  of  his  own  initiative  crawled  out 
of  his  low  bedstead  on  to  the  floor 
and  swayed  on  both  feet  for  the 
space  of  three  breaths. 

105.  "  And  they  were  long  breaths, 
for   my   heart    stood    still    with    de- 
light," said  Ameera. 

106.  Then  Tota  took  the  beasts  into 
his  councils  —  the  well-bullocks,  the 
little    gray    squirrels,    the    mongoose 
that   lived  in  a  hole  near  the   well, 
and  especially  Mian  Mittu,  the  par- 


170  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

rot,  whose  tail  he  grievously  pulled, 
and  Mian  Mittu  screamed  till  Ame- 
era  and  Holden  arrived. 

107.  "O  villain!     Child  of  strength ! 
This  to  thy  brother  on  the  house-top! 
Tobah,     tobah!     Fie!     Fie!     But     I 
know  a  charm  to  make  him  wise  as 
Suleiman  and  Aflatoun  [Solomon  and 
Plato].     Now    look,"    said    Ameera. 
She  drew  from  an  embroidered  bag  a 
handful      of     almonds.    "  See !      we 
count  seven.     In  the  name  of  God ! " 

108.  She  placed   Mian  Mittu,  very 
angry  and  rumpled,  on  the  top  of  his 
cage,  and  seating  herself  between  the 
babe  and  the  bird  she  cracked  and 
peeled  an  almond  less  white  than  her 
teeth.     "  This   is   a   true   charm,   my 
life,  and  do  not  laugh.     See!     I  give 
the    parrot   one    half   and    Tota    the 
other."     Mian     Mittu     with     careful 
beak   took   his    share    from    between 
Ameera's    lips,    and    she    kissed    the 
other    half    into    the    mouth    of    the 
child,  who  ate  it  slowly  with  wonder- 
ing eyes.     "  This  I  will  do  each  day 
of  seven,  and  without  doubt  he  who 
is  ours  will  be  a  bold  speaker  and 
wise.     Eh,   Tota,  what  wilt  thou  be 
when    thou    art    a    man    and    I    am 
gray-headed?"    Tota  tucked  his  fat 
legs      into      adorable      creases.    He 
could  crawl,  but   he  was  not  going 
to  waste  the  spring  of  his  youth  in 
idle      speech.    He      wanted      Mian 
Mittu's  tail  to  tweak. 

109.  When  he  was  advanced  to  the 
dignity  of  a  silver  belt  —  which,  with 
a  magic   square   engraved   on   silver 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION 

and  hung  round  his  neck,  made  up 
the  greater  part  of  his  clothing  —  he 
staggered  on  a  perilous  journey 
down  the  garden  to  Pir  Khan  and 
proffered  hirh  all  his  jewels  in  ex- 
change for  one  little  ride  on  Hold- 
en's  horse,  having  seen  his  mother's 
mother  chaffering  with  peddlers  in 
the  veranda.  Pir  Khan  wept  and  set 
the  untried  feet  on  his  own  gray 
head  in  sign  of  fealty,  and  brought 
the  bold  adventurer  to  his  mother's 
arms,  vowing  that  Tota  would  be  a 
leader  of  men  ere  his  beard  was 
grown. 

no.  One  hot  evening,  while  he  sat 
on  the  roof  between  his  father  and 
mother  watching  the  never-ending 
warfare  of  the  kites  that  the  city  boys 
flew,  he  demanded  a  kite  of  his  own 
with  Pir  Khan  to  fly  it,  because  he 
had  a  fear  of  dealing  with  anything 
larger  than  himself,  and  when  Hold- 
en  called  him  a  "spark"  he  rose  to 
his  feet  and  answered  slowly  in  de- 
fence of  his  new-found  individuality: 
"  Hum' park  naliin  hai.  Hum  admi 
hai  [I  am  no  spark,  but  a  man]." 

in.  The  protest  made  Holden 
choke  and  devote  himself  very  se- 
riously to  a  consideration  of  Tota's 
future.  He  need  hardly  have  taken 
the  trouble.  The  delight  of  that  life 
was  too  perfect  to  endure.  There- 
fore it  was  taken  away  as  many 
things  are  taken  away  in  India  — 
suddenly  and  without  warning.  The 
little  lord  of  the  house,  as  Pir  Khan 
called  him,  grew  sorrowful  and  com- 


172  STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 

plained  of  pains  who  had  never 
known  the  meaning  of  pain.  Ame- 
era,  wild  with  terror,  watched  him 
through  the  night,  and  in  the  dawn- 
ing of  the  second  day  the  life  was 
shaken  out  of  him  by  fever  —  the 
seasonal  autumn  fever.  It  seemed 
altogether  impossible  that  he  could 
die,  and  neither  Ameera  nor  Holden 
at  first  believed  the  evidence  of  the 
little  body  on  the  bedstead.  Then 
Ameera  beat  her  head  against  the 
wall  and  would  have  flung  herself 
down  the  well  in  the  garden  had 
Holden  not  restrained  her  by  main 
force. 

112.  One  mercy  only  was  granted 
to  Holden.    He  rode  to  his  office  in 
broad    daylight    and    found    waiting 
him    an    unusually   heavy    mail    that 
demanded  concentrated  attention  and 
hard   work.    He   was   not,   however, 
alive  to  his  kindness  of  the  gods. 

Ill 

113.  The  first  shock  of  a  bullet  is 
no    more   than    a   brisk   pinch.    The 
wrecked  body  does  not  send  in  its 
protest  to  the  soul  till  ten  or  fifteen 
seconds    later.    Holden    realised    his 
pain  slowly,  exactly  as  he  had  realis- 
ed his  happiness,  and  with  the  same 
imperious    necessity    for    hiding    all 
traces  of  it.    In  the  beginning  he  only 
felt  that  there  had  been  a  loss,  and 
that     Ameera     needed     comforting 
where  she  sat  with  her  head  on  her 
knees  shivering  as  Mian  Mittu  from 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  173 


the  hu«st*top  called:  Total  Total 
Total  Later,  all  his  world  and  the 
daily  life  of  it  rose  up  to  hurt  him. 
It  was  an  outrage  that  any  one  of  the 
children  at  the  band-stand  in  the 
evening  should  be  alive  and  clamor- 
ous, when  his  own  child  lay  dead.  It 
was  more  than  mere  pain  when  one  of 
them  touched  him,  and  stories  told  by 
over-fond  fathers  of  their  children's 
latest  performances  cut  him  to  the 
quick.  He  could  not  declare  his  pain. 
He  had  neither  help,  comfort,  nor 
sympathy;  and  Ameera  at  the  end  of 
each  weary  day  would  lead  him 
through  the  hell  of  self-questioning 
reproach  which  is  reserved  for  those 
who  have  lost  a  child,  and  believe 
that  with  a  little  —  just  a  little  — 
more  care  it  might  have  been  saved. 

114.  "Perhaps,"      Ameera      would 
say,  "  I  did  not  take  sufficient  heed. 
Did  I,  or  did  I  not?    The  sun  on  the 
roof  that  day  when  he  played  so  long 
alone  and  I  was  —  ahi!  braiding  my 
hair  —  it  may  be  that  the  sun  then 
bred  the  fever.    If  I  had  warned  him 
from  the  sun  he  might  have  lived. 
But  oh,  my  life,  say  that  I  am  guilt- 
less !    Thou  knowest  that  T  loved  him 
as  I  love  thee.     Say  that  there  is  no 
blame  on  me,  or  I  shall  die  —  I  shall 
die ! " 

115.  "There  is  no  blame  —  before 
God,  none.    It  was  written,  and  how 
could  we  do  aught  to  save?    What 
has  been,  has  been.    Let  it  go,  be- 
loved." 

116.  "He  was  all  my  heart  to  me. 


'174  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

How  can  I  let  the  thought  go  when 
my  arm  tells  me  every  night  that  he 
is  not  here?  Ahif  A  hi!  O  Tota, 
come  back  to  me  —  come  back  again, 
and  let  us  be  all  together  as  it  was 
before !  " 

117.  "  Peace,  peace!   For  thine  own 
sake,  and  for  mine  also,  if  thou  lovest 
me  —  rest." 

118.  "By   this    I    know    thou    dost 
not   care;    and   how    shouldst   thou? 
The  white  men  have  hearts  of  stone 
and   souls   of  iron.     Oh,  that   I   had 
married  a  man  of  mine  own  people 
—  though     he    beat     me  —  and    had 
never  eaten  the  bread  of  an  alien !  " 

119.  "Am   I  an  alien  —  mother  of 
rny  son  ?  " 

120.  "What  else  —  sahib?  .  .  .  Oh, 
forgive     me  —  forgive !     The     death 
has   driven  me   mad.     Thou   art  the 
life   of   my   heart,   and   the   light   of 
my  eyes,  and  the  breath  of  my  life, 
and  —  and  I  have  put  thee  from  me, 
though  it  was  but  for  a  moment     If 
thou    goest   away,   to   whom   shall   I 
look  for  help  ?     Do  not  be  angry.     In- 
deed, it  was  the  pain  that  spoke  and 
not  thy  slave." 

121.  "  I    know,    I    know.     We    be 
two    who    were    three.     The    greater 
need    therefore    that    we    should    be 
one." 

122.  They  were  sitting  on  the  roof 
as  of  custom.    The  night  was  a  warm 
one  in  early  spring,  and  sheet-light- 
ning   was    dancing    on    the    horizon 
to  a  broken   tune  played  by   far-off 


STORIES  OF   EMOTION  175 


thunder.    Ameera   settled  herself   in 
Holdcn's  arms. 

123.  "  The  dry  earth  is  lowing  like 
a   cow    for  the   rain,   and    [  —  1   am 
afraid.     It  was  not  like  this  when  we 
counted   the   stars.     But   thou  lovest 
me  as  much  as  before,  though  a  bond 
is  taken  away?    Answer!" 

124.  "  I  love  more  because  a  new 
bond  has  come  out  of  the  sorrow  that 
we    have    eaten    together,    and    that 
thou  knowest." 

125.  "  Yea,  I  knew,"  said  Ameera 
in  a  very  small  whisper.     "  But  it  is 
good   to   hear  thee  say  so,   my  life, 
who   art   so   strong  to  help.     I    will 
be  a  child  no  more  but  a  woman  and 
an    aid    to    thee.    Listen !     Give    me 
my  sitar  and  I  will  sing  bravely." 

126.  She  took  the  light  silver-stud- 
ded sitar  and  began  a  song  of  the 
great  hero  Rajah  Rasalu.    The  hand 
failed  on  the  strings,  the  tune  halted, 
checked,  and  at  a  low  note  turned  off 
to     the     poor     little     nursery-rhyme 
about  the  wicked  crow : 

*' '  And  the  wild  plums  grow  in  the  jungle, 

only  a  penny  a  pound, 
Only      a      penny      a      pound,      baba  — 
only  .  .  .'  " 

127.  Then  came  the  tears  and  the 
piteous  rebellion  against  fate  till  she 
slept,  moaning  a  little  in  her  sleep, 
with  the  right  arm  thrown  clear  of 
the  body  as  though  it  protected  some- 
thing   that    was    not    there.     It    was 
after   this  night   that   life   became   a 
little  easier  for  Holden.     The  ever- 


176  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

present  pain  of  loss  drove  him  into 
his  work,  and  the  work  repaid  him 
by  filling  up  his  mind  for  nine  or  ten 
hours  a  day.  Ameera  sat  alone  in 
the  house  and  brooded,  but  grew 
happier  when  she  understood  that 
Holden  was  more  at  ease,  according 
to  the  custom  of  women.  They 
touched  happiness  again,  but  this 
time  with  caution. 

128.  "It    was    because    we    loved 
Tota  that  he  died.    The  jealousy  of 
God  was  upon  us,"  said  Ameera.    "  I 
have  hung  up  a  large  black  jar  before 
our  window  to  turn  the  evil  eye  from 
us,  and  we  must  make  no  protesta- 
tions of  delight,  but  go  softly  under- 
neath the  stars,  lest  God  find  us  out 
Is    that    not    good    talk,    worthless 
one?" 

129.  She  had  shifted  the  accent  on 
the  word  that  means  "beloved,"  in 
proof  of  the  sincerity  of  her  purpose. 
But  the  kiss  that  followed  the  new 
christening  was  a  thing  that  any  deity 
might     have      envied.    They     went 
about  henceforward   saying :     "  It  is 
naught,   it   is   naught";   and  hoping 
that  all  the  Powers  heard. 

130.  The    Powers    were    busy    on 
other     things.    They     had     allowed 
thirty  million   people   four   years   of 
plenty  wherein  men  fed  well  and  the 
crops   were   certain,   and   the   birth- 
rate rose  year  by  year;  the  districts 
reported  a  purely  agricultural  popula- 
tion varying  from  nine   hundred  to 
two  thousand  to  the  square  mile  of 
the    overburdened    earth;    and    the 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  177 


Member  for  Lower  Tooting,  wander- 
ing about  India  in  pot-hat  and  frock- 
coat,  talked  largely  of  the  benefits 
of  British  rule  and  suggested  as  the 
one  thing  needful  the  establishment 
of  a  duly  qualified  electoral  system 
and  a  general  bestowal  of  the  fran- 
chise. His  long-suffering  hosts  smil- 
ed and  made  him  welcome,  and  when 
he  paused  to  admire,  with  pretty 
picked  words,  the  blossom  of  the 
blood-red  dhak-tree  that  had  flower- 
ed untimely  for  a  sign  of  what  was 
coming,  they  smiled  more  than  ever. 

131.  It    was    the    Deputy    Commis- 
sioner of  Kot-Kumharsen,  staying  at 
the  club  for  a  day,  who  lightly  told 
a  tale  that  made  Holden's  blood  run 
cold  as  he  overheard  the  end. 

132.  "He    won't    bother    any    one 
any    more.    Never    saw    a    man    so 
astonished   in   my   life.     By   Jove,    I 
thought  he  meant  to  ask  a  question 
in  the  House  about  it.    Fellow  pas- 
senger in  his  ship  —  dined  next  him 
—  bowled  over  by  cholera  and  died 
in     eighteen     hours.    You     needn't 
laugh,  you  fellows.     The  Member  for 
Lower    Tooting    is    awfully    angry 
about   it;   but   he's   more   scared.    I 
think  he's  going  to  take  his  enlight- 
ened self  out  of  India." 

133.  "  I'd  give  a   good  deal  if  he 
were  knocked   over.    It  might  keep 
a   few   vestrymen    of   his   kidney   to 
their   own   parish.    But   what's   this 
about    cholera?     It's    full    early    for 
anything  of  that  kind,"  said  the  war- 
den of  an  unprofitable  salt-lick. 


178  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

134.  "  Don't  know,"  said  the  Depu- 
ty Commissioner  reflectively.    "  We've 
got  locusts  with  us.    There's  sporadic 
cholera  all  along  the  north  —  at  least 
we're  calling  it   sporadic  for  decen- 
cy's    sake.     The     spring    crops    are 
short   in    five    districts,    and    nobody 
seems  to  know  where  the  rains  are. 
It's  nearly  March  now.     I  don't  want 
to  scare  anybody,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  Nature's  going  to  audit  her  ac- 
counts   with    a    big    red    pencil    this 
summer." 

135.  "  Just  when  I  wanted  to  take 
leave,  too !  "  said  a  voice  across  the 
room. 

136.  "  There  won't  be  much  leave 
this   year,  but  there  ought  to   be   a 
great  deal  of  promotion.     I've  come 
in   to   persuade    the    Government   to 
put    my    pet    canal    on    the    list    of 
famine-relief      works.    It's      an      ill 
wind   that   blows   no    good.    I    shall 
get  that  canal  finished  at  last." 

137.  "Is    it    the     old    programme 
then,"  said  Holden ;  "  famine,  fever, 
and  cholera?" 

138.  "  Oh,  no.    Only  local  scarcity 
and    an   unusual   prevalence    of   sea- 
sonal sickness.    You'll  find  it  all  in 
the  reports  if  you  live  till  next  year. 
You're  a  lucky  chap.     You  haven't  got 
a  wife  to   send  out  of  harm's  way. 
The  hill  stations  ought  to  be  full  of 
women  this  year." 

139.  "  I  think  you're  inclined  to  ex- 
aggerate the  talk  in  the  bazars,"  said 
a   young   civilian   in   the   secretariat. 
"  Now  I  have  observed  — " 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  179 


140.  "  I    daresay    you    have,"    said 
the      Deputy      Commissioner,      "but 
you've  a  great  deal  more  to  observe, 
my  son.    In  the  meantime,  I  wish  to 
observe  to  you — "  and  he  drew  him 
aside  to  discuss  the  construction  of 
the   canal   that   was   so   dear   to   his 
heart.    Holden  went  to  his  bungalow 
and  began  to  understand  that  he  was 
not  alone  in  the  world,  and  also  that 
he  was  afraid  for  the  sake  of  another 
—  which  is  the  most  soul-satisfying 
fear  known  to  man. 

141.  Two    months     later,     as     the 
Deputy  had  foretold,  Nature  began  to 
audit  her  accounts  with  a  red  pencil. 
On  the  heels  of  the  spring  reapings 
came  a  cry  for  bread,  and  the  Gov- 
ernment, which  had  decreed  that  no 
man  should  die  of  want,  sent  wheat. 
Then  came  the  cholera  from  all  four 
quarters   of   the   compass.     It   struck 
a  pilgrim-gathering  of  half  a  million 
at   a    sacred    shrine.    Many   died    at 
the    feet    of    their    god ;    the    others 
broke  and  ran  over  the  face  of  the 
land    carrying    the    pestilence    with 
them.     It    smote    a    walled   city    and 
killed  two  hundred  a  day.    The  peo- 
ple crowded  the  trains,  hanging  on 
to  the  foot-boards  and  squatting  on 
the   roofs  of  the  carriages,  and  the 
cholera   followed  them,   for   at  each 
station    they    dragged    out   the    dead 
and    the    dying.    They    died    by    the 
roadside,  and  the  horses  of  the  Eng- 
lishmen shied  at  the  corpses  in  the 
grass.     The  rains  did  not  come,  and 
the   earth   turned   to   iron   lest   man 


l8o  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

should  escape  death  by  hiding  in  her. 
The  English  sent  their  wives  away  to 
the  hills  and  went  about  their  work, 
coming  forward  as  they  were  bidden 
to  fill  the  gaps  in  the  fighting-line. 
Holden,  sick  with  fear  of  losing  his 
chiefest  treasure  on  earth,  had  done 
his  best  to  persuade  Ameera  to  go 
away  with  her  mother  to  the  Hima- 
layas. 

142.  "Why  should  I  go?"  said  she 
one  evening  on  the  roof. 

143.  "  There  is  sickness,  and  people 
are  dying,  and  all  the  white  mem-log 
have  gone." 

144.  "All  of  them?" 

145.  "All  —  unless    perhaps    there 
remain    some    old    scald-head    who 
vexes  her  husband's  heart  by  running 
risk  of  death." 

146.  "  Nay ;  who  stays  is  my  sister, 
and  thou  must  not  abuse  her,  for  I 
will  be  a  scald-head  too.    I  am  glad 
all  the  bold  mem-log  are  gone." 

147.  "  Do  I  speak  to  a  woman,  or  a 
babe?    Go  to  the  hills  and  I  will  see 
to  it  that  thou  goest  like  a  queen's 
daughter.    Think,   child.    In   a   red- 
lacquered  bullock-cart,  veiled  and  cur- 
tained, with  brass  peacocks  upon  the 
pole  and  red  cloth  hangings.    I  will 
send  two  orderlies  for  guard,  and  — " 

148.  "  Peace !    Thou  art  the  babe  in 
speaking  thus.    What  use  are  those 
toys  to  me.    He  would  have  patted 
the    bullocks    and    played    with    the 
housings.    For   his   sake,   perhaps  — 
thou  hast  made  me  very  English  — 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  l8l 


I  might  have  gone.    Now,  I  will  not 
Let  the  mem-log  run." 

149.  "  Their  husbands  are  sending 
them,  beloved." 

150.  "  Very  good  talk.     Since  when 
hast  thou  been  my  husband  to  tell  me 
what  to  do?    I  have  but  borne  thee 
a  son.    Thou  art  only  all  the  desire  of 
my  soul  to  me.     How  shall  I  depart 
when  I  know  that  if  evil  befall  thee 
by   the   breadth   of  so  much  as  my 
littlest      finger-nail  —  is       that       not 
small?  —  I    should    be    aware    of    it 
though    I    were    in    paradise.     And 
here,  this  summer  thou  mayest  die  — 
ai,    janee,    die!    and    in    dying    they 
might    call    to    tend    thee    a    white 
woman,  and   she   would   rob   me   in 
the  last  of  thy  love !  " 

151.  "  But  love  is  not  born  in  a  mo- 
ment or  on  a  death-bed !  " 

152.  "What    dost    thou    know    of 
love,    stone-heart?    She   would   take 
thy  thanks  at  least  and,  by  God  and 
the     Prophet     and     Beebee     Miriam 
the  mother  of  thy   Prophet,  that   I 
will  never  endure.    My  lord  and  my 
love,   let   there   be   no   more    foolish 
talk    of    going    away.    Where    thou 
art,  I  am.     It  is  enough."     She  put 
an  arm  round  his  neck  and  a  hand  on 
his  mouth. 

153.  There    are    not   many    happi- 
nesses so  complete  as  those  that  are 
snatched   under   the   shadow   of   the 
sword.     They      sat      together      and 
laughed,    calling    each    other    openly 
by  every  pet  name  that  could  move 
the  wrath  of  the  gods.    The  city  be- 


l82  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

low  them  was  locked  up  in  its  own 
torments.  Sulphur  fires  blazed  in  the 
streets;  the  conches  in  the  Hindu 
temples  screamed  and  bellowed,  for 
the  gods  were  inattentive  in  those 
days.  There  was  a  service  in  the 
great  Mohammedan  shrine,  and  the 
call  to  prayer  from  the  minarets  was 
almost  unceasing.  They  heard  the 
wailing  in  the  houses  of  the  dead, 
and  once  the  shriek  of  a  mother 
who  had  lost  a  child  and  was  call- 
ing for  its  return.  In  the  gray 
dawn  they  saw  the  dead  borne  out 
through  the  city  gates,  each  litter 
with  its  own  little  knot  of  mourn- 
ers. Wherefore  they  kissed  each 
other  and  shivered. 

154.  It  was  a  red  and  heavy  audit, 
for    the    land    was    very    sick    and 
needed   a   little   breathing   space   ere 
the  torrent  of  cheap  life  should  flood 
it  anew.    The  children  of  immature 
fathers     and     undeveloped     mothers 
*nade     no     resistance.     They     were 
cowed  and  sat  still,  waiting  till  the 
sword  should  be  sheathed  in  Novem- 
ber   if    it    were    so    willed.    There 
were   gaps  among   the   English,   but 

.the  gaps  were  filled.  The  work  of 
superintending  famine-relief,  cholera- 
sheds,  medicine-distribution,  and 
what  little  sanitation  was  possible, 
went  forward  because  it  was  so  or- 
dered. 

155.  Holden  had  been  told  to  keep 
himself  in  readiness  to  move  to  re- 
place the  next  man  who  should  fall. 
There  were  twelve  hours  in  each  day 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  183 


when  he  could  not  see  Ameera,  and 
she  might  die  in  three.  He  was 
considering  what  his  pain  would  be 
if  he  could  not  see  her  for  three 
months,  or  if  she  died  out  of  his 
sight.  He  was  absolutely  certain 
that  her  death  would  be  demanded  — 
so  certain  that  when  he  looked  up 
from  the  telegram  and  saw  Fir  Khan 
breathless  in  the  doorway,  he 
laughed  aloud.  "And?"  said  he  — 

156.  "  When  there  is  a  cry  in  the 
night  and  the  spirit  flutters  into  the 
throat,  who  has  a  charm  that  will  re- 
store?   Come    swiftly,    heaven-born! 
It  is  the  black  cholera." 

157.  Holden  galloped  to  his  home. 
The  sky  was  heavy  with  clouds,  for 
the    long-deferred    rains    were    near 
and  the  heat  was  stifling.    Ameera's 
mother    met    him    in    the    courtyard, 
whimpering :  "  She  is  dying.     She  is 
nursing   herself   into   death.     She    is 
all  but  dead.    What  shall  I  do,  sa- 
hib!' " 

158.  Ameera  was  lying  in  the  room 
in  which  Tota  had  been  born.     She 
made  no  sign  when  Holden  entered, 
because   the    human    soul   is    a   very 
lonely  thing  and,  when  it  is  getting 
ready  to  go  away,  hides  itself  in  a 
misty    borderland    where    the    living 
may  not  follow.    The  black  cholera 
does  its  work  quietly  and  without  ex- 
planation.   Ameera  was  being  thrust 
out  of  life  as  though  the  Angel  of 
Death    had    himself    put    his    hand 
upon      her.    The     quick     breathing 
seemed  to  show  that  she  was  either 


184  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

afraid  or  in  pain,  but  neither  eyes 
nor  mouth  gave  any  answer  to  Hold- 
en's  kisses.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
said  or  done.  Holden  could  only 
wait  and  suffer.  The  first  drops  of 
the  rain  began  to  fall  on  the  roof, 
and  he  could  hear  shouts  of  joy  in 
the  parched  city. 

159.  The   soul  came  back  a  little 
and    the    lips    moved.    Holden    bent 
down  to   listen.    "  Keep   nothing   of 
mine,"  said  Ameera.    "Take  no  hair 
from    my    head.    She    would    make 
thee  burn  it  later  on.    That  flame  I 
should    feel.    Lower !     Stoop  lower ! 
Remember    only    that    I    was    thine 
and  bore  thee  a  son.    Though  thou 
wed  a  white  woman  to-morrow,  the 
pleasure   of    receiving   in   thy   arms 
thy  first  son  is  taken  from  thee  for- 
ever.   Remember  me  when  thy  son 
is   born — the   one   that    shall   carry 
thy  name  before  all  men.    His  mis- 
fortunes be  on  my  head.     I  bear  wit- 
ness —  I     bear     witness " —  the     lips 
were  forming  the  words  on  his  ear 
—"that  there  is  no  God  but  — thee, 
beloved!" 

160.  Then    she    died.    Holden    sat 
still,  and  all  thought  was  taken  from 
him  —  till  he  heard  Ameera's  mother 
lift  the  curtain. 

161.  "Is  she  dead,  sahib?" 

162.  "  She  is  dead." 

163.  "Then    I    will    mourn,    and 
afterwards  take  an  inventory  of  the 
furniture  in  this  house.    For  that  will 
be  mine.    The  sahib  does  not  mean  to 
resume  it?     It  is  so  little,  so  very  lit- 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  185 


tie,  sahib,  and  I  am  an  old  woman. 
I  would  like  to  lie  softly." 

164.  "  For  the  mercy  of  God  be  si- 
lent   a    while.    Go    out    and    mourn 
where  I  cannot  hear." 

165.  "  Sahib,  she  will  be  buried  in 
four  hours." 

166.  "  I  know  the  custom.     I  shall 
go  ere  she  is  taken  away.     That  mat- 
ter is  in  thy  hands.     Look  to  it,  that 
the    bed   on   which  —  on   which    she 
lies—" 

167.  "Aha!    That    beautiful     red- 
lacquered  bed.    I  have  long  desired 

» 

168.  "  That  the  bed  is  left  here  un- 
touched   for    my    disposal.    All   else 
in  the  house  is  thine.     Hire  a  cart, 
take   everything,   go   hence,   and  be- 
fore sunrise  let  there  be  nothing  in 
this  house  but  that  which  I  have  or- 
dered thee  to  respect." 

169.  "  I     am     an     old     woman.    I 
would  stay  at  least  for  the  days  of 
mourning   and   the    rains    have    just 
broken.    Whither  shall  I  go?" 

170.  "  What  is  that  to  me?    My  or- 
der  is   that  there  is   a   going.    The 
house-gear  is  worth  a  thousand  ru- 
pees, and  my  orderly  shall  bring  thee 
a  hundred  rupees  to-night." 

171.  "  That  is  very  little.    Think  of 
the   cart-hire." 

172.  "  It    shall    be    nothing    unless 
thou     goest,     and     with     speed.    O 
woman,  get  hence  and  leave  me  with 
my  dead !  " 

173   The  mother  shuffled  down  the 
staircase,  and  in  her  anxiety  to  take 


186  STUDYING  THE  SHORT-STORY 

stock  of  the  house-fittings  forgot  to 
mourn.  Holden  stayed  by  Ameera's 
side  and  the  rain  roared  on  the  roof. 
He  could  not  think  connectedly  by 
reason  of  the  noise,  though  he  made 
many  attempts  to  do  so.  Then  four 
sheeted  ghosts  glided  dripping  into 
the  room  and  stared  at  him  through 
their  veils.  They  were  the  washers 
of  the  dead.  Holden  left  the  room 
and  went  out  to  his  horse.  He  had 
come  in  a  dead,  stifling  calm 
through  ankle-deep  dust.  He  found 
the  courtyard  a  rain-lashed  pond 
alive  with  frogs;  a  torrent  of  yellow 
water  ran  under  the  gate,  and  a  roar- 
ing wind  drove  the  bolts  of  the  rain 
like  buckshot  against  the  mud  walls. 
Pir  Khan  was  shivering  in  his  little 
hut  by  the  gate,  and  the  horse  was 
stamping  uneasily  in  the  water. 

174.  "  I  have  been  told  the  sahib's 
order,"  said  Pir  Khan.    "  It  is  well. 
This   house   is    now    desolate.    I    go 
also,  or  my  monkey  face  would  be  a 
reminder    of    that    which    has    been. 
Concerning    the    bed,    I    will    bring 
that  to  thy  house  yonder  in  the  morn- 
ing; but  remember,  sahib,  it  will  be 
to  thee  a  knife  turning  in  a  green 
wound.     I  go  upon  a  pilgrimage,  and 
I  will  take  no  money.     I  have  grown 
fat  in  the  protection  of  the  Presence 
whose  sorrow  is  my  sorrow.    For  the 
last  time  I  hold  his  stirrup." 

175.  He     touched     Holden's     foot 
with  both  hands,  and  the  horse  sprang 
out  into  the  road,  where  the  creaking 
bamboos  were  whipping  the  sky  and 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  1 87 


all  the  frogs  were  chuckling.  Hold- 
en  could  not  see  for  the  rain  in  his 
face.  He  put  his  hands  before  his 
eyes  and  muttered  : 

176.  "Oh,    you    brute!     You   utter 
brute  !  " 

177.  The  news  of  his  trouble  was 
already   in   his  bungalow.    He   read 
the    knowledge    in   his   butler's   eyes 
when  Ahmed  Khan  brought  in  food, 
and  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  his 
life   laid  a  hand   upon  his   master's 
shoulder,    saying:     "Eat,   sahib,   eat. 
Meat  is  good  against  sorrow.     I  also 
have  known.     Morever  the  shadows 
come    and    go,    sahib;    the    shadows 
come     and     go.    These     be    curried 


178.  Holden  could  neither  eat  nor 
sleep.    The      heavens      sent      down 
eight  inches  of  rain  in  that  night  and 
washed  the  earth  clean.    The  waters 
tore   down   walls,   broke   roads,   and 
scoured  open  the  shallow  graves  on 
the     Mohammedan     burying-ground. 
All  next  day  it  rained,  and  Holden 
sat  still  in  his  house  considering  his 
sorrow.     On     the     morning    of    the 
third    day    he    received    a    telegram 
which    said    only  :  "  Ricketts,    Myn- 
donie.    Dying.    Holden  relieve.    Im- 
mediate."   Then  he  thought  that  be- 
fore he  had  departed  he  would  look 
at  the  house  wherein  he  had   been 
master  and  lord.    There  was  a  break 
in  the  weather,  and  the  rank  earth 
steamed  with  vapour. 

179.  He  found  that  the  rains  had 
torn    down   the   mud   pillars    of   the 


188  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

gateway,  and  the  heavy  wooden  gate 
that  had  guarded  his  life  hung  lazily 
from  one  hinge.  There  was  grass 
three  inches  high  in  the  courtyard; 
Pir  Khan's  lodge  was  empty,  and 
the  sodden  thatch  sagged  between  the 
beams.  A  gray  squirrel  was  in  pos- 
session of  the  veranda,  as  if  the 
house  had  been  untenanted  for  thirty 
years  instead  of  three  days. 
Ameera's  mother  had  removed  every- 
thing except  some  mildewed  matting. 
The  tick-tick  of  the  little  scorpions 
as  they  hurried  across  the  floor  was 
the  only  sound  in  the  house. 
Ameera's  room  and  the  other  one 
where  Tota  had  lived  were  heavy 
with  mildew;  and  the  narrow  stair- 
case leading  to  the  roof  was  streaked 
and  stained  with  rain-borne  mud. 
Holden  saw  all  these  things,  and 
came  out  again  to  meet  in  the  road 
Durga  Dass,  his  landlord  —  portly, 
affable,  clothed  in  white  muslin,  and 
driving  a  C-spring  buggy.  He  was 
overlooking  his  property  to  see  how 
the  roofs  stood  the  stress  of  the  first 
rains. 

180.  "  I  have  heard,"  said  he,  "  you 
will   not  take   this   place   any   more, 
sahib?" 

181.  "What  are  you  going  to  do 
with   it?" 

182.  "  Perhaps  I  shall  Jet  it  again." 

183.  "Then  I  will  keep  it  on  while 
I  am  away." 

184.  Durga    Dass    was    silent    for 
some  time.    "You  shall  not  take  it 
on,  sahib"  he  said.    " When  I  was  a 


STORIES   OF   EMOTION  189 

> 

young  man  I  also—  But  to-day  I 
am  a  member  of  the  Municipality. 
Ho!  Ho!  No.  When  the  birds 
have  gone,  what  need  to  keep  the 
nest?  I  will  have  it  pulled  down  — 
the  timber  will  sell  for  something 
always.  It  shall  be  pulled  down, 
and  the  Municipality  shall  make  a 
road  across  as  they  desire,  from  the 
burning-ghaut  to  the  city  wall,  so 
that  no  man  may  say  where  this 
house  stood." 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 

1.  Using  the  term  "  Emotion  "  J  broadly,  make  a  list  of  all  the 
emotions  you  can. 

2.  Which  of  these  are  displayed  in  "The  Last  Class"? 

3.  Which  in  "Without  Benefit  of  Clergy"? 

4.  Cite  different  passages,  by  referring  to  the  numbered  para- 
graphs, in  which  certain  specific  emotions  are  displayed. 

5.  Do  you  notice  any  emotional  expressions  which  seem  to  you 
to  be  either  extravagant,  or  weak,  or  in  any  way  untrue  to  life? 

6.  Point  out  how  the  author   conveys   the  ideas  of  emotion, 
such  as  by  emotional  words,  gestures,  attitudes,  etc. 

7.  Write  five  short  original  paragraphs  expressing  five  different 
emotions,  using  varied  means  of  conveying  the  impressions  of 
strong  feeling. 

8.  Select  from  some  magazine  a  story  of  the  emotional  type, 
and  point  out  in  a  few  words  why  you  consider  it  to  be  a  typically 
emotional  story. 

1  NOTE. —  Any  good  psychology  is  likely  to  help  you  understand  the  nature 
of  emotion  in  general. 


IQO  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  STORIES  OF  EMO- 
TION OR  SENTIMENT 

"  A  Doctor  of  The  Old  School,"  Ian  Maclaren,  in  The 
Days  of  Auld  Lang  Sync. 

"  A  Descent  into  the  Maelstrom,"  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  in 
Tales. 

"The  Duchess  at  Prayer,"  Edith  Wharton,  in   Crucial 
Instances. 

"  A  Lear  of  the  Steppes/'  Ivan  Turgenefr,  translated  in 
The  Book  of  The  Short-Story.     Jessup  and  Canby. 

"  The  Death  of  the  Dauphin,"  Alphonse  Daudet,  trans- 
lated in  Little  French  Masterpieces. 

"  The  Birthmark,"  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  in  Mosses  From 
an  Old  Manse. 

"Tennessee's    Partner,"   Bret   Harte,   in    The  Luck   of 
Roaring  Camp  and  Other  Stories. 

"  The  Death  of  Olivier  Becaille,"  fimile  Zola,  translated 
in  Masterpieces  of  Fiction. 

"  They,"  Rudyard  Kipling,  in  Traffic  and  Discoveries. 

to  '  Our  Lady,' "  Anatole  France,  in  Short- 
Story  Masterpieces. 


IV 
HUMOROUS  STORIES 

The  Ransom  of  Red  Chief. —  O.  HENRY 
The  Courting  of  T'Nowhead's  Bell.—  J.  M.  BARRIE 


191 


Sydney  Smith  uses  this  word  [humor]  to  cover  any  thing  that 
is  ridiculous  and  laughable.  So  the  epithet  comic  is  quite  indis- 
criminately applied.  But  we  ought  not  to  submit  to  this  loose 
application;  for  there  are  plenty  of  other  words  to  make  proper 
distinctions  for  us  amid  our  pleasurable  moods,  and  permit  us  to 
reserve  humor  for  something  which  is  neither  punning,  wit, 
satire,  nor  comedy.  Humor  may  avail  itself  of  all  these  mental 
exercises,  but  only  as  a  manager  casts  his  stock  company  to  set 
forth  the  prevailing  spirit  of  a  play.  Comedy,  for  instance,  rep- 
resents sorrows,  passions,  and  annoyances,  but  shows  them  with- 
out the  sombre  purpose  of  tragedy  to  enforce  a  supreme  will  at 
any  cost.  All  our  weaknesses  threaten  in  comedy  to  result  in 
serious  embarrassments,  but  there  is  such  inexhaustible  material 
for  laughter  in  the  whims  and  follies  with  which  we  baffle  our- 
selves and  others,  that  the  tragic  threat  is  collared  just  in  time 
and  shaken  into  pleasure.  All  kinds  of  details  of  our  life  are 
represented,  which  tragedy  could  never  tolerate  in  its  main  drift 
towards  the  pathos  of  defeated  human  wills  and  broken  hearts. 
Tricks,  vices,  fatuities,  crotchets,  vanities,  play  their  game  for  a 
stake  no  higher  than  the  mirth  of  outwitting  each  other;  and 
they  all  pay  penalties  of  a  light  kind  which  God  exacts  smilingly 
for  the  sake  of  keeping  our  disorders  at  a  minimum.  Comedy 
also  finds  a  great  deal  of  its  charm  in  the  unconsciousness  of 
an  infirmity.  We  exhibit  ourselves  unawares:  each  one  is  per- 
fectly understood  by  everybody  but  himself;  so  we  plot  and 
vapor  through  an  intrigue  with  placards  on  each  back,  where  all 
but  the  wearers  can  indulge  their  mirth  at  seeing  us  parading  so 
innocently  with  advertisements  of  our  price  and  quality. —  JOH» 
WEISS,  Wit,  Humor,  and  Shakespeare. 


192 


HUMOROUS  STORIES 

There  are  as  many  kinds  of  humorous  stories  as  there 
are  kinds  of  humor,  ranging  from  gentle  mirth,  comedy, 
fun,  and  farce,  to  burlesque,  ridicule,  satire  and  irony. 
Some  stories  are  typically  humorous  in  their  central  situ- 
ation, as  Mark  Twain's  "  The  Jumping  Frog  of  Cala- 
veras  " ;  others  abound  in  a  whole  series  of  funny  situ- 
ations, as  "  The  King  of  Boyville,"  by  William  Allen 
White ;  others,  again,  are  rich  in  the  humorous  sayings  by 
the  writer,  rather  than  revealed  in  humorous  plot,  as  in 
Artemas  Ward's  sketch,  "  Horace  Greeley's  Ride  to 
Placerville  " ;  still  others  put  the  humor  into  the  speech 
of  the  characters,  as  in  "  The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft," 
by  O.  Henry;  while  yet  others  exhibit  two  or  more  of 
the  foregoing  kinds,  and  are  by  turns  gay,  or  whimsical, 
or  satirical,  as  the  characters  and  happenings  may  per- 
mit, mingling  humor  of  plot  with  mirth  of  word  and  in- 
cident. 

The  two  chief  ingredients  of  humor  —  though  for  the 
most  part  it  defies  analysis  —  are  surprise,  and  a  feeling  of 
incongruity.  But  these  must  be  accompanied  by  no  higher 
emotion.  It  would  surprise  us  to  meet  the  incongruous 
sight  of  a  half-clad  child  struggling  in  the  snow,  but  the 
vision  would  not  be  humorous  —  the  higher  emotion  of 

193 


194  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

pity  would  preclude  that.  But  to  see  an  arrogant  fop 
stripped  of  his  finery  and  floundering  and  spluttering  in 
a  snow  drift  into  which  he  had  been  tossed,  would  be 
funny  —  to  others. 

Merely  for  a  story  to  possess  humor  would  not  war- 
rant our  classing  it  as  a  humorous  story,  for  humor  is  a 
sunny  ray  gleaming  often  through  literature  and  life,  but 
when  the  typical  spirit  and  prevailing  treatment  of  the 
story  are  humorous,  it  may  properly  be  so  entitled. 

HENRY  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

William  Sidney  Porter,  otherwise  known  as  "  O. 
Henry,"  was  born  in  1867,  in  Greensboro,  N.  C. —  the 
descendant  of  several  governors  of  that  state,  it  may  be 
remarked  in  passing.  While  still  very  young  he  went  to 
Texas  and  received  his  education  at  an  academy  there. 
Because  of  poor  health  he  was  unable  to  attend  college, 
so  he  spent  two  and  a  half  years  of  his  early  manhood 
on  a  cattle  ranch.  Following  that  period  came  his  jour- 
nalistic work  on  the  Houston  Post,  and  a  little  ten-page 
weekly  story-paper  of  his  own,  The  Iconoclast  —  after- 
wards renamed  The  Rolling  Stone  —  most  of  the  stories 
for  which  he  wrote  himself.  After  several  years  in 
Houston,  he  visited  Central  America  with  a  friend  —  a 
trip  which,  later,  yielded  rich  material  for  his  first  book. 
Then  followed  a  short  period  as  a  drug  clerk  in  Austin, 
Texas.  Next  we  see  him  in  New  Orleans,  again  em- 
barked upon  literary  work ;  and  there  it  was  that  he  first 
showed  real  promise  as  a  short-story  writer,  and  there 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  195 

also  that  he  adopted  his  unique  pseudonym  —  the  sur- 
name of  which  was  selected  at  random  from  a  newspaper 
account  of  a  social  function,  and  the  initial  letter  because 
it  was  the  "easiest  letter  written."  About  eight  years 
before  his  death  he  came  to  New  York,  in  response  to  an 
offer  from  one  of  the  magazine  editors  there,  and  after 
that  his  name  became  well-known  and  his  success  assured. 
He  died  in  New  York  City,  June  5,  1910,  at  the  age  of 
forty-two.  His  three  earliest  books  are  perhaps  the  ones 
by  which  he  is  best  known;  Cabbages  and  Kings,  The 
Four  Million,  and  The  Trimmed  Lamp.  Eleven  volumes 
of  short-stories  comprise  his  literary  output.  The  later 
stories  do  not  enhance  his  reputation,  though  some  of 
them  are  in  his  best  vein  —  notably  "  The  Ransom  of  Red 
Chief,"  contained  in  the  volume  Whirligigs,  published  the 
year  of  his  death.  His  last  book,  Sixes  and  Sevens,  was 
issued  posthumously,  in  1911. 

Of  all  short-story  writers  O.  Henry  was  easily  first  as 
a  master  of  surprise.  The  sudden  and  often  astounding 
reversals  at  the  end  of  his  stories  became  delightfully 
characteristic,  and  the  reader  with  the  O.  Henry  habit 
played  a  happy  though  always  losing  game  with  himself 
in  trying  to  forecast  the  denouement  of  each  new  story. 
Sometimes  the  yarn-spinner  would  delight  in  leading  us 
to  curl  our  lip,  and  say,  "  Pshaw,  O.  Henry  is  employing 
a  rather  old  device  —  in  fact,  this  is  quite  trite  — "  and 
then  all  in  an  instant  the  sly  phrase  would  peep  forth  to 
show  that  we  had  been  caught  from  ambush ;  for  O. 
Henry  had  scant  reverence  for  the  reader's  dignity  —  he 


196  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

poked  fun  at  him  as  laughingly  as  could  Shakespeare  him- 
self,  on  occasion. 

No  other  writer  ever  made  slang  so  really  funny,  yet 
few  knew  better  the  richness  of  serious  English  diction 
for  really  literary  ends.  Not  that  he  embellished  his 
sentences,  but  that  he  appraised  every  word  at  its  true 
value  before  uttering  it  as  literary  coin.  When  he  said 
that  one  of  his  characters  was  "  denounced  by  the  name 
of  -  "  (I  have  forgotten  what),  he  extracted  the  full 
essence  from  those  six  words,  and  that  is  art. 

Other  short-story  writers  have  been  as  trenchant  in 
wit,  others  as  keen  in  observation,  but  none  has  known 
so  wide  a  variety  of  common-folk  as  O.  Henry.  Four 
great  types  he  understood  with  rare  completeness:  The 
Texan  (Heart  of  the  West},  the  Central  American  (Cab- 
bages and  Kings},  the  middle-  and  lower-class  New 
Yorker  (The  Four  Million}, —  and  Everybody  Else  (all 
of  his  eleven  books  of  short-stories} . 

O.  Henry's  advice  to  young  writers  as  to  the  secret  of  short- 
story  writing  is  well  known.  "There  are  two  rules,"  he  said. 
"  The  first  rule  is  to  write  stories  that  please  yourself.  There 
is  no  second  rule."  He  was  once  facetiously  asked  if  there  were 
a  second  rule,  what  that  rule  would  be.  "  Sell  the  story,"  he 
answered.—  G.  J.  NATHAN,  O.  Henry  in  His  Own  Bagdad.  The 
Bookman,  vol.  31. 

O.  Henry  has  often  been  called  "  the  Yankee  Maupassant,"  and 
up  to  a  certain  point  the  characterization  is  suggestive.  His 
stories  have  the  swiftness  and  point  of  the  anecdote,  as  Maupas- 
sant's have.  He  employs  just  enough  art  to  keep  alive  the  read- 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  197 

er's  interest  for  the  laugh  or  the  gasp  to  which  everything  else 
leads  up.  ...  As  a  humorist  he  was  American  to  the  finger  tips. 
That  is  to  say,  he  secured  his  effects  by  over-statement,  which  is 
the  salient  characteristic  of  American  humor.  .  .  .  Mark  Twain 
was  a  world  humorist;  O.  Henry  was  an  American  humorist." — 
A  Typically  American  Short-Story  Writer  (Current  Literature, 
vol.49).  , 

The  author  seems  to  know  almost  every  type  of  man  —  the 
rich  and  portly  financier,  the  "  fly "  newsboy  or  district  mes- 
senger, the  denizens  of  the  great  hotels,  the  "salesladies,"  the 
chorus  girls,  the  women  in  the  shop,  the  raffish  hangers-on  of  the 
saloons,  the  gamblers,  and  the  grafters.  .  .  .  Mr.  Porter  is  a  real 
flaneur  of  the  American  type,  only,  he  confines  himself  to  no 
boulevard,  to  no  city,  to  no  state,  nor  even  to  a  single  country. 
The  world,  in  fact,  is  his  oyster,  and  he  has  learned  almost  un- 
consciously to  open  it  and  to  extract  from  it  alike  the  meat  and 
the  salty  juices.  .  .  .  He  gets  down  to  the  very  heart  of  things. 
He  sees  the  humour  and  the  pathos  blended;  yet,  on  the  whole, 
he  is  an  optimist  .  .  .  who  believes  that  in  every  human  being 
there  is  to  be  found  something  good,  however  mixed  it  may  be 
with  other  qualities;  and,  like  a  true  American,  he  can  see  and 
chuckle  at  the  humour  of  it  all. —  HARRY  THURSTON  PECK,  Some 
Representative  American  Story-Tellers,  The  Bookman,  vol.  31. 


FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON  O.  HENRY 
Some  American  Story-Tellers,  Frederic  Taber  Cooper 
(1911);  Life  of  0.  Henry,  Peyton  Steger  (1911);  O. 
Henry  Biography,  C.  Alphonso  Smith  (1916).  Magazine 
articles:  The  Bookman:  The  Personal  O.  Henry,  29, 
345 ;  29,  579 ;  O.  Henry's  Shorter  Stories,  Justus  Miles 
Forman,  31,  131;  Sketch  of  O.  Henry,  31,  456;  Repre- 
sentative American  Story-Tellers,  Harry  Thurston  Peck, 
31,  477 ;  O.  Henry  in  His  Own  Bagdad,  G.  J.  Nathan,  31, 
477.  North  American  Review,  187,  781. 


198 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


THE  RANSOM  OF  RED  CHIEF 1 

BY   O.    HENRY 


It  looked  like  a  good  thing;  but 
wait  till  I  tell  you.  We  were  down 
South,  in  Alabama  —  Bill  Driscoll 
and  myself  —  when  this  kidnapping 
idea  struck  us.  It  was,  as  Bill  after- 
ward expressed  it,  "  during  a  moment 
of  temporary  mental  apparition " ; 
but  we  didn't  find  that  out  till  later. 

2.  There  was  a  town  down  there, 
as  flat  as  a  flannel-cake,  and  called 
Summit,  of  course.    It  contained  in- 
habitants   of    as    undeleterious    and 
self-satisfied  a  class  of  peasantry  as 
ever  clustered  around  a  Maypole. 

3.  Bill  and  me  had  a  joint  capital 
of   about   six    hundred    dollars,    and 
we  needed  just  two  thousand  dollars 
more  to  pull  off  a  fraudulent  town- 
lot  scheme  in  Western  Illinois  with. 
We  talked  it  over  on  the  front  steps 
of    the    hotel.     Philoprogenitiveness, 
says  we,  is  strong  in  semi-rural  com- 
munities ;    therefore,    and    for    other 
reasons,  a  kidnapping  project  ought 
to  do  better  there  than  in  the  radius 
of    newspapers    that    send    reporters 
out  in  plain  clothes  to  stir  up  talk 
about    such    things.    We    know    that 
Summit   couldn't   get   after    us    with 

*  Copyright,  1910,  by  Doubleday,  Page  and  Co.,  and  used  by  permission. 


INTRODUCTION. 

Setting  and  characters. 


A    favorite    form    of    humor 
with  O.  Henry. 

Setting   more   specific. 
Satire       of       contrast  —  fre- 
quent with  author. 


The     narrator     is     not     con 
sistently    ungrammatical. 


The  introduction  develops 
the  foundation  of  the 
PLOT  SITUATION  gradually. 


HUMOROUS  STORIES 


199 


anything  stronger  than  constables 
and,  maybe,  some  lackadaisical  blood- 
hounds and  a  diatribe  or  two  in  the 
Weekly  Farmers'  Budget.  So,  it 
looked  good. 

4.  We  selected  for  our  victim  the 
only    child    of    a    prominent    citizen 
named  Ebenezer  Dorset.    The  father 
was   respectable    and   tight,   a   mort- 
gage fancier  and  a  stern,  upright  col- 
lection-plate   passer    and    forecloser. 
The  kid  was  a  boy  of  ten,  with  bas- 
relief  freckles,  and  hair  the  color  of 
the  cover  of  the  magazine  you  buy 
at  the  news-stand  when  you  want  to 
catch   a  train.    Bill   and   me  figured 
that  Ebenezer  would  melt  down  for 
a  ransom  of  two  thousand  dollars  to 
a  cent.    But  wait  till  I  tell  you. 

5.  About  two  miles  from   Summit 
was  a  little  mountain,  covered  with 
a   dense   cedar  brake.     On   the   rear 
elevation    of    this    mountain    was    a 
cave.    There  we  stored  provisions. 

6.  One  evening  after  sundown,  we 
drove  in  a  buggy  past  old  Dorset's 
house.    The   kid   was   in   the   street, 
throwing  rocks  at  the  kitten  on  the 
opposite   fence. 

7.  "  Hey,    little    boy !  "    says    Bill, 
"  would  you   like  to  have  a  bag  of 
candy  and  a  nice  ride  ?  " 

8.  The  boy  catches   Bill   neatly  in 
the  eye  with  a  piece  of  brick. 

9.  "  That  will  cost  the  old  man  an 
extra    five    hundred    dollars,"    says 
Bill,  climbing  over  the  wheel. 

10.  That  boy  put  up  a  fight  like  a 
welterweight  cinnamon  bear;  but,  at 


The  humor  takes  the  form 
of  situation,  diction,  sat- 
ire, and  sly  little  surprises 
throughout. 


Setting  for  main   action. 


MAIN      ACTION      BEGINS 
FIRST  PLOT  INCIDENT. 


CONTRIBUTORY    INCIDENT. 

As  a  matter  of  technique, 
note  that  contributory  in- 
cidents might  be  varied  or 
omitted  without  altering 
the  plot  essentially.  These 
are  not  all  specifically 
noted  in  this  story. 


200 


STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 


last,  we  got  him  down  in  the  bottom 
of  the  buggy  and  drove  away.  We 
took  him  up  to  the  cave,  and  I  hitched 
the  horse  in  the  cedar  brake.  After 
dark  I  drove  the  buggy  to  the  little 
village,  three  miles  away,  where  we 
had  hired  it,  and  walked  back  to  the 
mountain. 

O-  Cjr^r?,-  tC  j   ^Ju-vvA. 

11.  Bill    wfts   pasting   court-plaster 
over  the  scratches  and  bruises  on  his 
features.     There  was  a  fire  burning 
behind  the  big  rock  at  the  entrance 
of  the  cave,  and  the  boy  was  watch- 
ing a  pot  of  boiling  coffee,  with  two 
buzzard  tail-feathers  stuck  in  his  red 
hair.    He  points  a  stick  at  me  when 
I  come  up,  and  says: 

12.  "  Ha !   cursed  paleface,  do  you 
dare  to  enter  the  camp  of  Red  Chief, 
the  terror  of  the  plains?" 

13.  "  He's  all  right  now,"  says  Bill, 
rolling  up  his  trousers  and  examin- 
ing    some     bruises     on     his     shins. 
"  We're  playing  Indian.    We're  mak- 
ing   Buffalo    Bill's    show    look    like 
magic-lantern  views  of  Palestine  in 
the  town  hall.    I'm  Old   Hank,  the 
Trapper,  Red  Chief's  captive,  and  I'm 
to  be  scalped  at  daybreak.     By  Ger- 
onimo!  that  kid  can  kick  hard." 

14.  Yes,  sir,  that  kid  seemed  to  be 
having  the  time  of  his  life.    The  fun 
of  camping  out  in  a  cave  had  made 
him    forget   that   he   was   a   captive 
himself.    He  immediately  christened 
me  Snake-eye,  the  Spy,  and  announc- 
ed   that,    when    his    braves    returned 
from  the  warpath,  I  was  to  be  broil- 


'Bill"  and  "the  Kid" 
serve  as  the  contesting 
characters. 


Note   title   of  the  story. 
"  Bill  "   never   smiles. 


Note  how  the  author  uses 
swift  changes  to  humor- 
ous effect. 

ESSENTIAL,  or  PLOT,  SITUA- 
TION. 


HUMOROUS  STORIES 


201 


ed  at  the  stake  at  the  rising  of  the 
sun. 

15.  Then  we  had  supper;   and  he 
filled   his   mouth   full   of  bacon   and 
bread  and  gravy,  and  began  to  talk. 
He    made    a    during-dinner    speech 
something  like  this: 

16.  "  I  like  this  fine.    I  never  camp- 
ed out  before;  but  I  had  a  pet  'pos- 
sum once,  and  I  was  nine  last  birth- 
day.   I  hate  to  go  to  school.     Rats 
ate    up    sixteen    of    Jimmy    Talbot's 
aunt's     speckled     hen's     eggs.    Are 
there     any     real     Indians     in     these 
woods?     I    want   some   more   gravy. 
Does  the  trees  moving  make  the  wind 
blow?     We  had  five  puppies.    What 
makes  your  nose  so  red,  Hank?     My 
father  has  lots  of  money.    Are  the 
stars    hot?    I    whipped    Ed    Walker 
twice,    Saturday.     I   don't  like   girls. 
You  dasent  catch  toads  unless  with 
a  string.    Do  oxen  make  any  noise? 
Why  are  oranges  round?    Have  you 
got  beds  to   sleep   on  in  this   cave? 
Amos  Murray  has  got  six  toes.    A 
parrot  can  talk,  but  a  monkey  or  a 
fish  can't.     How   many  does  it  take 
to  make  twelve  ?  " 

17.  Every    few    minutes   he   would 
remember  that  he  was  a  pesky  red- 
skin, and  pick  up  his  stick  rifle  and 
tiptoe  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave  to 
rubber   for  the   scouts   of  the  hated 
paleface.    Now   and   then   he   would 
let  out  a  war-whoop  that  made  Old 
Hank  the  Trapper,  shiver.     That  boy 
had  Bill  terrorized  from  the  start. 


Somewhat  overdone,  but  we 
must  judge  the  story  not 
as  comedy  but  as  farce, 
which  blithely  assumes  the 
improbable  as  true. 


ESSENTIAL  SITUATION. 


202 


STUDYING  THE  SHORT-STORY 


18.  "  Red  Chief,"  says  I  to  the  kid, 
"  would  you  like  to  go  home  ?  " 

19.  "  Aw,  what  for  ?  "  says  he.    "  I 
don't  have  any  fun  at  home.    I  hate 
to  go  to  school,    I  like  to  camp  out. 
You  won't  take  me  back  home  again, 
Snake-eye,  will  you  ?  " 

20.  "  Not     right     away,"     says     I. 
"We'll    stay    here    in    the    cave    a 
while." 

21.  "All  right!  "  says  he.    "That'll 
be  fine.    I  never  had  such  fun  in  all 
my  life." 

22.  We  went  to  bed  about  eleven 
o'clock.    We  spread  down  some  wide 
blankets  and  quilts  and  put  Red  Chief 
between  us.    We  weren't  afraid  he'd 
run   away.    He   kept   us   awake    for 
three  hours,  jumping  up  and  reach- 
ing   for    his    rifle    and    screeching: 
"Hist!  pard,"  in  mine  and  Bill's  ears, 
as  the  fancied  crackle  of  a  twig  or 
the  rustle  of  a  leaf  revealed  to  his 
young   imagination   the   stealthy  ap- 
proach of  the  outlaw  band.    At  last, 
I    fell    into    a    troubled    sleep,    and 
dreamed  that  I  had  been  kidnapped 
and  chained  to  a  tree  by  a  ferocious 
pirate  with  red  hair. 

23.  Just  at  daybreak,  I  was  awaken- 
ed by  a  series  of  awful  screams  from 
Bill.    They  weren't  yells,  or  howls, 
or  shouts,  or  whoops,  or  yawps,  such 
as  you'd  expecte   from  a  manly  set 
of  vocal  organs  —  they  were  simply 
indecent,        terrifying,       humiliating 
screams,  such  as  women  emit  when 
they  see  ghosts  or  caterpillars.     It's 
an  awful  thing  to  hear  a  strong,  des- 


KEY. 

Use  of  the  unexpected. 


A   tribute   throughout  to   the 
dime   dreadful. 


Narrator  lapses  now  and 
then  into  "  better "  lan- 
guage. 


Contrast. 


HUMOROUS   STORIES 


203 


perate,  fat  man  scream  incontinently 
in  a  cave  at  daybreak. 

24.  I  jumped  up  to  see  what  the 
matter  was.    Red  Chief  was  sitting 
on  Bill's  chest,  with  one  hand  twined 
in  Bill's  hair.     In  the  other  he  had  the 
sharp  case-knife  we  used  for  slicing 
bacon;  and  he  was  industriously  and 
realistically     trying     to     take     Bill's 
scalp,  according  to  the  sentence  that 
had  been  pronounced  upon  him  the 
evening  before. 

25.  I  got  the  knife  away  from  the 
kid  and  made  him   lie  down  again. 
But,  from  that  moment,  Bill's  spirit 
was  broken.    He  laid  down  on  his 
side  of  the  bed,  but  he  never  closed 
an  eye  again  in  sleep  as  long  as  that 
boy  was  with  us.    I  dozed  off  for  a 
while,  but  along  toward  sun-up  I  re- 
membered that  Red   Chief  had  said 
I  was  to  be  burned  at  the  stake  at 
the  rising  of  the  sun.    I  wasn't  nerv- 
ous or  afraid;  but  I  sat  up  and  lit 
my  pipe  and  leaned  against  a  rock. 

26.  "What  you  getting  up  so  soon 
for,  Sam?"  asked  Bill. 

27.  "Me?"  says  I.    "Oh,  I  got  a 
kind   of  a  pain  in   my  shoulder.    I 
thought  sitting  up  would  rest  it." 

28.  "  You're    a    liar ! "    says    Bill. 
"  You're    afraid.    You    was    to    be 
burned  at  sunrise,  and  you  was  afraid 
he'd   do   it.     And  he  would,   too,   if 
he    could    find    a    match.    Ain't    it 
awful,  Sam?     Do  you  think  anybody 
will  pay  out  money  to  get  a  little  imp 
like  that  back  home?" 

29.  "  Sure,"  said  I.    "  A  rowdy  kid 


PLOT  SITUATION. 

Note  that  the  author  devel- 
ops his  story  by  the  use 
of  progressive  plot  situa- 
tions and  contributory 
(non-essential)  incidents. 


2O4 


STUDYING    THE   SHORT-STORY 


like  that  is  just  the  kind  that  parents 
dote  on.  Now,  you  and  the  Chief 
get  up  and  cook  breakfast,  while  I  go 
up  on  the  top  of  this  mountain  and 
reconnoitre." 

30.  I  went  up  on  the  peak  of  the 
little  mountain  and  ran  my  eye  over 
the  contiguous  vicinity.    Over  toward 
Summit  I  expected  to  see  the  sturdy 
yeomanry  of  the  village  armed  with 
scythes    and    pitchforks    beating    the 
countryside    for    the    dastardly    kid- 
nappers.    But    what    I    saw    was    a 
peaceful    landscape   dotted    with   one 
man    ploughing    with    a    dun    mule. 
Nobody  was  dragging  the  creek;  no 
couriers     dashed     hither     and     yon, 
bringing  tidings  of  no  news  to  the 
distracted     parents.    There     was     a 
sylvan  altitude  of  somnolent  sleepi- 
ness pervading  the  section  of  the  ex- 
ternal  outward   surface  of  Alabama 
that  lay  exposed  to  my  view.    "  Per- 
haps," says  I  to  myself,  "it  has  not 
yet  been  discovered  that  the  wolves 
have  borne  away  the  tender  lambkin 
from     the     fold     Heaven    help     the 
wolves !  "  says  I,  and  I  went  down 
the  mountain  to  breakfast. 

31.  When  I  got  to  the  cave  I  found 
Bill  backed  up  against  the  side  of  it, 
breathing  hard,  and  the  boy  threat- 
ening to  smash  him  with  a  rock  half 
as  big  as  a  cocoanut. 

32.  "  He  put  a  red-hot  boiled  po- 
tato down  my  back,"  explained  Bill, 
"and  then  mashed  it  with  his  foot; 
and  I  boxed  his  ears.     Have  you  got 
a  gun  about  you,  Sam?  " 


Note  the  humorous  use  of 
the  language  of  "  litera- 
ture " —  sparingly. 


PLOT  SITUATION. 


KEY. 


Contrast   of   unexpected. 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  2O5 

33.  I  took  the  rock  away  from  the 
boy  and  kind  of  patched  up  the  argu- 
ment.    "  I'll  fix  you,"  says  the  kid  to 
Bill.    "  No  man  ever  yet  struck  the 
Red  Chief  but  what  he  got  paid  for 
it.    You  better  beware !  " 

34.  After  breakfast  the  kid  takes  a      Return  to  first  style  of  nar- 
piece  of  leather  with  strings  wrapped 

around  it  out  of  his  pocket  and  goes 
outside  the  cave  unwinding  it. 

35.  "  What's  he  up  to  now  ?  "  says 

Bill,    anxiously.     "  You    don't    think      A    Frank    R.    Stockton    ex- 
he'll  run  away,  do  you,  Sam?"  pression. 

36.  "  No  fear  of  it,"  says  I.    "  He 
don't   seem   to  be  much   of  a  home 
body.     But  we've  got  to  fix  up  some 
plan  about  the  ransom.    There  don't 
seem  to  be  much  excitement  around   \J  c 
Summit  on  account  of  his  disappear- 
ance; but  maybe  they  haven't  realiz- 
ed yet  that  he's  gone.    His  folks  may 
think   he's    spending  the   night   with 
Aunt  Jane  or  one  of  the  neighbors. 
Anyhow,  he'll  be  missed  to-day.    To- 
night we  must  get  a  message  to  his 
father  demanding  the  two  thousand 

dollars  for  his  return."  Plot    situation    hidden,    ac- 

,  tion  halts. 

37.  Just  then  we  heard  a  kind  of 
warwhoop,  such  as  David  might  have 
emitted    when    he    knocked    out    the 
champion    Goliath.    It    was    a    sling 
that  Red  Chief  had  pulled  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  he  was  whirling  it  around 
his  head. 

38.  I   dodged,  and  heard  a  heavy 
thud  and  a  kind  of  a  sigh  from  Bill, 
like  a  horse  gives  out  when  you  take 
his    saddle   off.    A   niggerhead    rock 
the  size  of  an  egg  had  caught  Bill 


206 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


just  behind  the  left  ear.  He  loosen- 
ed himself  all  over  and  fell  in  the  fire 
across  the  frying  pan  of  hot  water 
for  washing  the  dishes.  I  dragged 
him  out  and  poured  cold  water  on 
his  head  for  half  an  hour. 

39.  By   and   by,    Bill   sits    up   and 
feels  behind  his  ear  and  says :  "  Sam, 
do  you  know  who  my  favorite  Biblical 
character  is  ?  " 

40.  "  Take      it      easy,"      says      I. 
"  You'll  come  to  your  senses  present- 
ly." 

41.  "King  Herod,"  says  he.    "You 
won't   go   away   and  leave   me   here 
alone,  will  you,  Sam?" 

42.  I  went  out  and  caught  that  boy 
and  shook  him  until  his  freckles  rat- 
tled. 

43.  "  If  you  don't  behave,"  says  I, 
"  I'll  take  you  straight  home.     Now, 
are  you  going  to  be  good,  or  not?" 

44.  "  I  was  only  funning,"  says  he 
sullenly.     "  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  Old 
Hank.    But  what  did  he  hit  me  for? 
I'll  behave,  Snake-eye,  if  you  won't 
send  me  home,  and  if  you'll  let  me 
play  the  Black  Scout  to-day." 

45.  "  I  don't  know  the  game,"  says 
I.    "That's  for  you  and  Mr.  Bill  to 
decide.    He's  your  playmate  for  the 
day.    I'm  going  away  for  a  while,  on 
business.    Now,    you    come    in    and 
make  friends  with  him  and  say  you 
are  sorry  for  hurting  him,  or  home 
you  go,  at  once." 

46.  I    made    him    and    Bill    shake 
hands,  and  then  I  took  Bill  aside  and 
told  him  I  was  going  to  Poplar  Cove, 


This  expression  is  more 
clever  than  natural  to 
"  Bill." 


Slaughter   of    the    Innocents. 


See  If  4. 


Note    the    use    of   the   incon- 
gruous. 


HUMOROUS   STORIES 


207 


Do  these  men  seem  like 
actual  criminals?  See  com- 
ment on  1T  16. 


a  little  village  three  miles  from  the 
cave,  and  find  out  what  I  could  about 
how  the  kidnapping  had  been  regard- 
ed in  Summit.  Also,  I  thought  it  PLOT  INCIDENT. 
best  to  send  a  peremptory  letter  to 
old  man  Dorset  that  day,  demanding 
the  ransom  and  dictating  how  it 
should  be  paid. 

47.  "  You    know,    Sam,"   says    Bill, 
"  I've  stood  by  you   without  batting 
an  eye  in  earthquakes,  fire  and  flood 
—  in  poker  games,  dynamite  outrag- 
es, police  raids,  train  robberies  and 
cyclones.     I  never  lost  my  nerve  yet 
till    we    kidnapped    that    two-legged 
skyrocket  of  a  kid.     He's  got  me  go- 
ing.    You  won't  leave  me  long  with 
him,  will  you,  Sam?" 

48.  "  I'll    be   back   some    time   this 
afternoon,"  says  I.    "  You  must  keep 

the  boy  amused  and  quiet  till  I  re-       Irony. 
turn.    And  now  we'll  write  the  letter 
to  old  Dorset." 

49.  Bill  and  I  got  paper  and  pencil 
and  worked  on  the  letter  while  Red 
Chief,  with  a  blanket  wrapped  around 
him,  strutted  up  and  down,  guarding 
the  mouth  of  the  cave.     Bill  begged 
me  tearfully  to  make  the  ransom  fif- 
teen hundred  dollars  instead  of  two 
thousand.     "  I  ain't  attempting,"  says 
he,   "  to   decry  the  celebrated  moral 
aspect  of  parental  affection,  but  we're 
dealing    with    humans,    and    it    ain't 
human  for  anybody  to  give  up  two       KEY. 
thousand     dollars     for     that     forty- 
pound    chunk    of    freckled    wildcat. 

I'm  willing  to  take  a  chance  at  fifteen 


208 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


hundred  dollars.    You  can  charge  the 
difference  up  to  me." 

50.  So,  to  relieve  Bill,  I  acceded, 
and  we  collaborated  a  letter  that 
ran  this  way : 


PREPARATION  FOR  CRISIS. 


Ebenezer  Dorset,  Esq.: 

We  have  your  boy  concealed  in  a 
place  far  from  Summit.  It  is  use- 
less for  you  or  the  most  skilful 
detectives  to  attempt  to  find  him. 
Absolutely,  the  only  terms  on  which 
you  can  have  him  restored  to  you  are 
these:  We  demand  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  in  large  bills  for  his  return ; 
the  money  to  be  left  at  midnight  at 
the  same  spot  and  in  the  same  box 
as  your  reply  —  as  hereinafter  de- 
scribed. If  you  agree  to  these  terms, 
send  your  answer  in  writing  by  a 
solitary  messenger  to-night  at  half- 
past  eight  o'clock.  After  crossing 
Owl  Creek,  on  the  road  to  Poplar 
Cove,  there  are  three  large  trees 
about  a  hundred  yards  apart,  close 
to  the  fence  of  the  wheat  field  on 
the  right-hand  side.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  fence-post,  opposite  the  third 
tree,  will  be  found  a  small  paste- 
board box. 

The  messenger  will  place  the  an- 
swer in  this  box  and  return  im- 
mediately to  Summit. 

If  you  attempt  any  treachery  or 
fail  to  comply  with  our  demand  as 
stated,  you  will  never  see  your  boy 
again. 

If  you  pay  the  money  as  demanded, 
he  will  be  returned  to  you  safe  and 
well  within  three  hours.  These 
terms  are  final,  and  if  you  do  not 
accede  to  them  no  further  communi- 
cation will  be  attempted. 

Two  DESPERATE  MEN. 


In  intelligence  of  expres- 
sion, does  this  letter  cor- 
respond to  the  general 
style  of  the  narrator? 


HUMOROUS  STORIES 


209 


51.  I  addressed  this  letter  to  Dor- 
set, and  put  it  in  my  pocket.    As  I 
was  about  to  start,  the  kid  comes  up 
to  me  and  says  : 

52.  "  Aw,    Snake-eye,    you    said    I 
could    play    the    Black    Scout    while 
you  was  gone." 

53.  "  Play    it,    of   course/'    says    I. 
"  Mr.  Bill  will  play  with  you.    What 
kind  of  a  game  is  it  ?  " 

54.  "  I'm    the    Black    Scout,"    says 
Red  Chief,  "  and  I  have  to  ride  to  the 
stockade  to  warn  the  settlers  that  the 
Indians  are  coming.     I'm  so  tired  of 
playing  Indian  myself.     I  want  to  be 
the  Black  Scout." 

55.  "  All  right,"  says  I.    "  It  sounds 
harmless   to    me.     I    guess    Mr.    Bill 
will  help  you  foil  the  pesky  savages." 

56.  "  What  am  I  to  do?  "  says  Bill, 
looking  at  the  kid  suspiciously. 

57.  "  You  are  the  hoss,"  says  Black 
Scout.     "  Get    down   on   your   hands 
and  knees.     How  can  I  ride  to  the 
stockade  without  a  hoss?" 

58.  "  You'd    better    keep    him    in- 
terested,"   said    I,    "till    we   get   the 
scheme  going.     Loosen  up." 

59.  Bill  gets  down  on  his  all  fours, 
and  a  look  comes  in  his  eye  like  a 
rabbit's  when  you  catch  it  in  a  trap. 

60.  "  How  far  is  it  to  the  stockade, 
Kid  ? "  he  asks,  in  a  husky  manner 
of  voice. 

61.  "  Ninety  miles,"  says  the  Black 
Scout.     "  And    you    have    to    hump 
yourself  to  get  there  on  time.    Whoa, 
now !  " 


Character 
by-play. 


delineation     and 


'he  two  are 
character  in 
graphs. 


typically 
these     p; 


210  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

62.  The  Black  Scout  jumps  on  Bill's 
back  and  digs  his  heels  in  his  side. 

63.  "  For  Heaven's  sake,"  says  Bill, 
"  hurry  back,   Sam,   as   soon  as  you 
can.    I  wish  we  hadn't  made  the  ran- 
som   more    than    a    thousand.    Say, 
you  quit  kicking  me  or  I'll  get  up 
and  warm  you  good." 

64.  I  walked  over  to  Poplar  Cove 
and   sat   around   the   post-office   and 
store,   talking   with   the   chawbacons 
that  came  in  to  trade.     One  whisker- 
ando  says  that  he  hears  Summit  is  all 
upset  on  account  of  Elder  Ebenezer 

Dorset's  boy  having  been  lost  or  stol-  PLOT  SITUATION. 
en.  That  was  all  I  wanted  to  know. 
I  bought  some  smoking  tobacco,  re- 
ferred casually  to  the  price  of  black- 
eyed  peas,  posted  my  letter  sur- 
reptitiously and  came  away.  The 
postmaster  said  the  mail-carrier 
would  come  by  in  an  hour  to  take  the 
mail  on  to  Summit. 

65.  When  I  got  back  to  the  cave 
Bill    and    the   boy    were    not    to    be 
found.     I  explored  the  vicinity  of  the 
cave,  and  risked  a  yodel  or  two,  but 
there  was  no  response. 

66.  So  I  lighted  my  pipe  and  sat 
down  on  a  mossy  bank  to  await  de- 
velopments. 

67.  In  about  half  an  hour  I  heard 
the  bushes   rustle,  and   Bill  wabbled 
out  into  the  little  glade  in  front  of 
the  cave.    Behind  him  was  the  kid, 
stepping  softly  like  a  scout,  with  a 
broad  grin  on  his  face.     Bill  stopped, 
took  off  his  hat  and  wiped  his  face 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  211 

with  a  red  handkerchief.  The  kid 
stopped  about  eight  feet  behind 
him. 

68.  "Sam,"  says  Bill,  "I  suppose 
you'll  think  I'm  a  renegade,  but  I 
couldn't  help  it.  I'm  a  grown  person 
with  masculine  proclivities  and  habits 
of  self-defence,  but  there  is  a  time 
when  all  systems  of  egotism  and 

predominance  fail.  The  boy  is  gone.  Typical  O.  Henry  speech  in 
I  have  sent  him  home.  All  is  off.  this  paragraph. 
There  was  martyrs  in  old  times," 
goes  on  Bill,  "that  suffered  death 
rather  than  give  up  the  particular 
graft  they  enjoyed.  None  of  'em 
ever  was  subjugated  to  such  super- 
natural tortures  as  I  have  been.  1 
tried  to  be  faithful  to  our  articles  of 
depredation ;  but  there-  came  a 
limit." 

69.  "What's  the  trouble,  Bill?"  I 
asks  him. 

70.  "  I   was  rode,"   says   Bill,  "  the 
ninety  miles  to  the  stockade,  not  bar- 
ring an  inch.    Then,  when  the   set- 
tlers was  rescued,  I  was  given  oats. 
Sand    ain't    a    palatable    substitute. 
And  then,  for  an  hour  I  had  to  try  to 
explain  to  him  why  there  was  noth- 
in'   in   holes,   how   a   road   can   run 
both  ways  and  what  makes  the  grass 
green.     I  tell  you,  Sam,  a  human  can 
only  stand  so  much.     I  takes  him  by 
the  neck  of  his  clothes  and  drags  him 
down  the  mountain.     On  the  way  he 
kicks    my    legs    black-and-blue    from 
the   knees    down;    and    I've    got   to 
have  two  or  three  bites  on  my  thumb 
and  hand  cauterized. 


212 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


71.  "  But     he's     gone" — continues 
Bill — "gone    home.     I    showed    him 
the  road  to  Summit  and  kicked  him 
about  eight  feet  nearer  there  at  one 
kick.     I'm  sorry  we  lose  the  ransom; 
but  it  was  either  that  or  Bill  Driscoll 
to  the  madhouse." 

72.  Bill  is  puffing  and  blowing  but 
there    is    a    look    of    ineffable    peace 
and  growing  content  on  his  rose-pink 
features. 

73.  "  Bill,"  says  I,  "  there  isn't  any 
heart     disease    in    your    family,     is 
there?" 

74.  "No,"      says      Bill,      "nothing 
chronic  except  malaria  and  accidents. 
Why?" 

75.  "  Then  you  might  turn  around," 
says  I,  "  and  have  a  look  behind  you." 

76.  Bill  turns  and  sees  the  boy,  and 
loses  his  complexion  and  sits  down 
plump  on  the  ground  and  begins  to 
pluck    aimlessly    at   grass    and    little 
sticks.     For  an  hour  I  was  afraid  for 
his  mind.    And  then  I  told  him  that 
my  scheme  was  to  put  the  whole  job 
through    immediately    and    that    we 
would  get  the  ransom  and  be  off  with 
it  by  midnight  if  old  Dorset  fell  in 
with  our  proposition.     So  Bill  braced 
up   enough  to  give  the  kid  a   weak 
sort  of  a  smile  and  a  promise  to  play 
the  Russian  in  a  Japanese  war  with 
him  as  soon  as  he  felt  a  little  better. 

77.  I  had  a  scheme  for  collecting 
that  ransom  without  danger  of  being 
caught  by  counterplots  that  ought  to 
commend   itself  to  professional  kid- 
nappers.    The  tree  under  which  the 


Note  the  stage  trick  of  a 
character  in  ignorance 
while  the  audience  enjoys 
his  delusion.  The  sur- 
prise is  his,  not  ours. 


Suggestion. 

Straight      delineation.       The 
former  is  the  better  art. 


PLOT  SITUATION. 


HUMOROUS  STORIES 


213 


V 


PLOT  INCIDENT. 


answer  was  to  be  left  —  and  the 
money  later  on  —  was  close  to  the 
road  fence  with  big,  bare  fields  on 
all  sides.  If  a  gang  of  constables 
should  be  watching  for  any  one  to 
come  for  the  note  they  could  see 
him  a  long  way  off  crossing  the  fields 
or  in  the  road.  But  no  sirree!  At 
half-past  eight  I  was  up  in  that  tree 
as  well  hidden  as  a  tree  toad,  waiting 
for  the  messenger  to  arrive. 

78.  Exactly  on  time,  a  half-grown 
boy  rides  up  the  road  on  a  bicycle, 
locates    the    pasteboard    box    at    the 
foot  of  the  fence-post,  slips  a  folded 
piece    of    paper    into    it    and    pedals 
away  again  back  toward  Summit. 

79.  I  waited  an  hour  and  then  con-        A 
eluded  the  thing  was  square.    I  slid 
down  the  tree,  got  the  note,  slipped 
along    the    fence    till    I    struck    the 
woods,  and  was  back  at  the  cave  in 
another  half  an  hour.    I  opened  the 
note,  got  near  the  lantern  and  read 

it  to  Bill.  It  was  written  with  a  pen 
in  a  crabbed  hand,  and  the  sum  and 
substance  of  it  was  this  : 


Two  Desperate  Men. 

Gentlemen:  I  received  your  letter 
to-day  by  post,  in  regard  to  the  ran- 
som you  ask  for  the  return  of  my 
son.  I  think  you  are  a  little  high 
in  your  demands,  and  I  hereby  make 
you  a  counter-proposition,  which  I 
am  inclined  to  believe  you  will  ac- 
cept You  bring  Johnny  home  and 
pay  me  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
in  cash,  and  I  agree  to  take  him  off 
your  hands.  You  had  better  come  at 
night  for  the  neighbors  believe  he  is 


MAIN  PLOT  INCIDENT. 


CLIMAX. 


2I4 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


lost,  and  I  couldn't  be  responsible  for 
what  they  would  do  to  anybody  they 
saw  bringing  him  back. 

Very  respectfully, 
EBENEZER  DORSET. 

80.  "Great  pirates   of   Penzance!" 
says  I,  "of  all  the  impudent — " 

81.  But  I  glanced  at  Bill,  and  hes- 
itated.   He  had  the  most  appealing 
look  in  his  eyes  I  ever  saw  on  the  face 
of  a'dumb  or  a  talking  brute. 

82.  "  Sam,"   says   he,    "  what's   two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  after  all? 
We've    got    the    money.     One    more 
night  of  this  kid  will  send  me  to  a 
bed     in    Bedlam.     Besides    being    a 
thorough    gentleman,     I    think    Mr. 
Dorset  is  a   spendthrift  for   making 
us  a  liberal  offer.     You  ain't  going 
to  let  the  chance  go,  are  you  ?  " 

83.  "  Tell  you  the  truth,  Bill,"  says 
I,  "  this  little  he  ewe  lamb  has  some- 
what got  on  my  nerves,  too.     We'll 
take  him  home,  pay  the  ransom,  and 
make  our  get-away." 

84.  We  took  him  home  that  night. 
We  got  him  to  go  by  telling  him  that 
his  father  had  bought  a  silver-mount- 
ed rifle  and  a  pair  of  moccasins  for 
him,    and    we    were    going   to    hunt 
bears  the  next  day. 

85.  It  was  just  twelve  o'clock  when 
we  knocked  at  Ebenezer's  front  door. 
Just  at  the  moment  when  I   should 
have  been  abstracting  the  fifteen  hun- 
dred dollars  from  the  box  under  the 
tree,  according  to  the  original  prop- 
osition,  Bill   was   counting   out   two 


Suggestion. 


Serio-comic. 


Extreme   of  contrast. 


DENOUEMENT. 


HUMOROUS  STORIES 


215 


hundred  and  fifty  dollars  into  Dor- 
set's hand. 

86.  When    the    kid    found    out    we 
were  going  to  leave  him  at  home  he 
started  up  a  howl  like  a  calliope  and 
fastened  himself  as  tight  as  a  leech 
to  Bill's  leg.    His  father  peeled  him 
away  gradually,  like  a  porous  plas- 
ter. 

87.  "  How     long     can     you     hold 
him?"  asks  Bill. 

88.  "  I'm  not  as  strong  as  I  used 
to    be,"    says    old    Dorset.    "  But    I 
think  I  can  promise  you  ten  minutes." 

89.  "  Enough,"  says  Bill.    "  In  ten 
minutes    I    shall    cross    the    Central, 
Southern  and  Middle  Western  States, 
and  be  legging  it  trippingly  for  the 
Canadian  border." 

90.  And,  as  dark  as  it  was,  and  as 
fat  as  Bill  was,  and  as  good  a  runner 
as   I   am,  he  was  a  good  mile   and 
half  out  of  Summit  before  I   could 
catch  up  with  him. 


CONTRASTING  PLOT  SITUA- 
TION —  Summary  of  the 
plot-outcome. 

Note    free    use    of   simile. 


Humor   of   hyperbole. 


RESULTANT  CLIMAX. 


BARRIE  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

James  Matthew  Barrie  was  born  at  Kirriemuir 
("Thrums"),  Scotland,  on  the  9th  of  May,  1860.  He 
is  the  son  of  a  physician,  whom  he  has  lovingly  embodied 
as  "  Dr.  McQueen  " ;  his  mother  and  sister  also  will  live 
as  "  Jess  "  and  "  Leeby."  He  was  educated  at  Dumfries 
Academy,  entering  the  University  of  Edinburgh  at  eight- 
een, from  which  he  was  graduated  in  1882  with  the 
degree  of  M.A.,  taking  honors  in  English  literature.  He 
began  writing  literary  criticisms  for  the  Edinburgh  Cou- 


2l6  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

rant  at  this  period.  Several  months  after  his  graduation 
Barrie  took  a  position  on  a  Nottingham  newspaper,  leav- 
ing that  city  for  London  in  1885,  where  his  literary  career 
commenced  in  earnest;  but  success  did  not  come  until 
after  the  customary  struggles  and  hindrances  to  which 
young  literary  aspirants  are  ever  subject.  In  1893 
he  married  Miss  Ansell,  an  actress,  whom  he  divorced 
in  1909.  Some  of  his  best-known  books  are  Auld 
Licht  Idylls;  A  Window  in  Thrums;  Margaret  Ogilvy; 
My  Lady  Nicotine;  The  Little  Minister  (afterwards 
dramatized)  ;  Sentimental  Tommy;  Tommy  and  Grizel 
(a  sequel),  and  The  Little  White  Bird.  He  also  wrote 
several  plays,  the  most  notable  of  which  are  The  Pro- 
fessor's Love  Story;  Peter  Pan  (a  partial  dramatization 
of  The  Little  White  Bird)  ;  Quality  Street;  and  What 
Every  Woman  Knows.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Mr. 
Barrie  did  not  succeed  in  securing  the  magazine  publica- 
tion of  "  The  Courting  of  T'Nowhead's  Bell,"  which  is 
given  herewith ;  it  was  first  issued  between  book  covers, 
in  1888. 

Barrie  is  a  versatile  story-teller,  though  he  deals  mostly 
with  Scotch  characters.  His  early  work  exhibits  his 
short-story  ability  at  its  best.  The  warm  human  interest 
of  A  Window  in  Thrums  and  Auld  Licht  Idylls,  is 
matched  only  by  Ian  Maclaren's  Beside  the  Bonnie  Briar 
Bush  and  The  Days  of  Auld  Lang  Syne.  A  quaint 
character-humor,  with  swift  flashes  of  pathos,  pervades 
all  his  work,  which  for  local-color  and  insight  into  the 
character  of  the  Scotch  rural  dweller  has  won  a  place  of 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  217 

distinction  among  the  stories  of  present-day  writers. 
With  Barrie,  realism  is  rarely  unpleasant;  he  sees  all 
things  with  a  gentle  eye.  Even  when  in  his  keen  ability 
to  penetrate  to  the  heart  of  things  he  discovers  the  weak- 
nesses of  humanity,  he  also  finds  redeeming  virtues. 
Thus  his  characters  are  continually  disclosing  their  true 
natures  underneath  the  garb  and  custom  of  picturesque 
life,  and  we  feel  ourselves  to  be  kin  to  them,  every  one. 
His  dialect  in  itself  is  masterly  and  often  deliciously  hu- 
morous, so  that  actions  and  dialogue  in  themselves  com- 
monplace take  on  an  extraordinary  interest.  No  modern 
writer  has  a  greater  gift  of  character-drawing,  and  none 
is  more  sympathetically  human  in  his  interpretations  of 
the  Scotch  commoner. 

It  is  my  contemptible  weakness  that  if  I  say  a  character  smiled 
vacuously,  I  must  smile  vacuously ;  if  he  frowns  or  leers,  I  frown 
or  leer;  if  he  is  a  coward  or  given  to  contortions,  I  cringe,  or 
twist  my  legs  until  I  have  to  stop  writing  to  undo  the  knot. 
I  bow  with  him,  eat  with  him,  and  gnaw  my  moustache  with 
him.  If  the  character  be  a  lady  with  an  exquisite  laugh,  I  sud- 
denly terrify  you  by  laughing  exquisitely.  One  reads  of  the 
astounding  versatility  of  an  actor  who  is  stout  and  lean  on  the 
same  evening,  but  what  is  he  to  the  novelist  who  is  a  dozen 
persons  within  the  hour?  —  J.  M.  BARRIE,  Margaret  Ogilvy. 

There  are  writers  who  can  plan  out  their  story  beforehand  as 
clearly  as  though  it  were  a  railway  journey,  and  adhere  through- 
out to  their  original  design  —  they  draw  up  what  playwrights 
call  a  scenario  —  but  I  was  never  one  of  those.  I  spend  a  great 
deal  of  time  indeed  in  looking  for  the  best  road  in  the  map  and 
mark  it  with  red  ink,  but  at  the  first  bypath  off  my  characters 
go.  "  Come  back,"  I  cry,  "  you  are  off  the  road."  "  We  prefer 
this  way,"  they  reply.  I  try  bullying.  "  You  are  only  people  in 
a  book,"  I  shout,  "and  it  is  my  book,  and  I  can  do  what  I  like 


2l8  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

with  you,  so  come  back ! "  But  they  seldom  come,  and  it  ends 
with  my  plodding  after  them. —  J.  M.  BARRIE,  Introduction  to 
When  a  Man's  Single. 

The  chief  features  of  Barrie's  style  are  a  quaintness  of  expres- 
sion, a  simple  directness  of  narrative,  and  an  unfailing  sense  of 
humor  —  often  as  though  the  author  were  chuckling  to  himself 
as  he  wrote.  His  gift  for  descriptive  writing  —  probably  the 
best  test  of  "  style  " —  is  very  marked,  though  he  makes  little  of 
it. —  J.  A.  HAMMERTON,  /.  M.  Barrie  and  His  Books. 

Auld  Licht  Idylls  is  a  set  of  regular  descriptions  of  the 
life  of  "  Thrums,"  with  special  reference  to  the  ways  and  char- 
acter of  the  "Old  Lights,"  the  stubborn  conservative  Scotch 
Puritans;  it  contains  also  a  most  amusing  and  characteristic 
love  story  of  the  sect  ("The  Courting  of  T'Nowhead's  Bell"), 
and  a  satiric  political  skit. —  CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER'S  Library 
of  the  World's  Best  Literature. 

By  the  time  "Auld  Licht  Idylls"  appeared,  he  had  achieved 
a  reputation, —  at  least  a  local  one.  This  book  had  an  immediate 
success,  and  ran  rapidly  through  several  editions.  His  mother 
had  been  an  Auld  Licht  in  her  youth.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Barrie,  knowing 
them  from  the  inside,  could  tell  all  sorts  of  quaint  and  marvel- 
lous tales  about  them,  whose  humor  was  sure  to  please.  It  was 
from  her  stories  that  the  Idylls  were  mainly  drawn,  so  she  was 
in  a  sense  a  collaborator  with  her  son  in  their  production. — 
HATTIE  T.  GRISWOLD,  Personal  Sketches  of  Recent  Authors. 

As  a  literary  artist  he  belongs  in  the  foremost  rank.  He  has 
that  sense  of  the  typical  in  incident,  of  the  universal  in  feeling, 
and  of  the  suggestive  in  language,  which  mark  the  chiefs  of 
letters.  No  one  can  express  an  idea  with  fewer  strokes;  he 
never  expands  a  sufficient  hint  into  an  essay.  His  management 
of  the  Scotch  dialect  is  masterly:  he  uses  it  sparingly,  in  the 
nearest  form  to  English  compatible  with  retaining  the  flavor; 
he  never  makes  it  so  hard  as  to  interfere  with  enjoyment;  in 
few  dialect  writers  do  we  feel  so  little  alicnncss. —  CHARLES 
DUDLEY  WARNER'S  Library  of  the  World's  Best  Literature. 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  219 

FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON  BARRIE 

My  Contemporaries  in  Fiction,  by  J.  D.  C.  Murray 
(1897)  ;  Theology  of  Modern  Literature,  by  S.  Law  Wil- 
son (1899)  ;  Fame  and  Fiction,  by  E.  A.  Bennett  (1901) ; 
/.  M.  Barrie  and  His  Books,  by  J.  A.  Hammerton  ( 1902) . 

FOR  ANALYSIS 
THE  COURTING  OF  T'NOWHEAD'S  BELL 

BY   JAMES    MATTHEW    BARRIE 

For  two  years  it  had  been  notori- 
ous in  the  square  that  Sam'l  Dickie 
was  thinking  of  courting  T'nowhead's 
Bell,  and  that  if  little  Sanders  Elsh- 
ioner  (which  is  the  Thrums  pronun- 
ciation of  Alexander  Alexander) 
went  in  for  her  he  might  prove  a 
formidable  rival.  Sam'l  was  a  weav- 
er in  the  Tenements,  and  Sanders  a 
coal-carter  whose  trade-mark  was  a 
bell  on  his  horse's  neck  that  told 
when  coals  were  coming.  Being 
something  of  a  public,  man,  Sanders 
had  not  so  high  a  social  position  as 
Sam'l,  but  he  had  succeeded  his  fath- 
er on  the  coal-cart,  while  the  weaver 
had  already  tried  several  trades.  It 
had  always  been  against  Sam'l,  too, 
that  once  when  the  kirk  was  vacant 
he  had  advised  the  selection  of  the 
third  minister  who  preached  for  it 
on  the  ground  that  it  came  expensive 
to  pay  a  large  number  of  candidates. 


220  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

The  scandal  of  the  thing  was  hushed 
up,  out  of  respect  for  his  father,  who 
was  a  God-fearing  man,  but  Sam'l 
was  known  by  it  in  Lang  Tammas* 
circle.  The  coal-carter  was  called 
Little  Sanders  to  distinguish  him 
from  his  father,  who  was  not  much 
more  than  half  his  size  He  had 
grown  up  with  the  name,  and  its 
inapplicability  now  came  home  to  no- 
body. Sam'l's  mother  had  been  more 
far-seeing  than  Sanders'.  Her  man 
had  been  called  Sammy  all  his  life 
because  it  was  the  name  he  got  as  a 
boy,  so  when  their  eldest  son  was 
born  she  spoke  of  him  as  Sam'l  while 
still  in  his  cradle.  The  neighbours 
imitated  her,  and  thus  the  young  man 
had  a  better  start  in  life  than  had 
been  granted  to  Sammy,  his  father. 

2.  It   was   Saturday  evening  —  the 
night  in  the  week  when  Auld  Licht 
young     men     fell     in     love.     Sam'l 
Dickie,  wearing  a  blue  glengarry  bon- 
net with  a  red  ball  on  the  top.  came 
to  the  door  of  a  one-story  house  in 
the     Tenements     and     stood     there 
wriggling,   for  he  was  in  a  suit  of 
tweeds  for  the  first  time  that  week, 
and   did   not   feel   at   one   in   them. 
When  his  feeling  of  being  a  stran- 
ger to  himself  wore  off,  he  looked  up 
and  down  the  road,  which  straggles 
between    houses    and    gardens,    and 
then,  picking  his  way  over  the  pud- 
dles, crossed  to  his  father's  henhouse 
and  sat  down  on  it.    He  was  now  on 
his  way  to  the  square. 

3.  Eppie  Fargus  was  sitting  on  an 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  221 


adjoining    dike     knitting    stockings, 
and  Sam'l  looked  at  her  for  a  time. 

4.  "  Is't  yersel,  Eppie?"  he  said  at 
last. 

5.  "  It's  a'  that,"  said  Eppie. 

6.  "Hoo's  a'  wi'  ye?"  asked  Sam'l. 

7.  "We're   juist    aff    an'    on,"    re- 
plied Eppie  cautiously. 

8.  There   was   not   much  more   to 
say,  but  as  Sam'l  sidled  off  the  hen- 
house   he    murmured    politely,    "Ay, 
ay."    In    another    minute    he    would 
have  been   fairly  started,  but   Eppie 
resumed  the  conversation. 

9.  "  Sam'l,"  she  said,  with  a  twinkle 
in  her  eye,  "ye  can  tell  Lisbeth  Far- 
gus  I'll  likely  be  drappin'  in  on  her 
aboot  Munday  or  Teisda.y." 

10.  Lisbeth  was  sister  to  Eppie,  and 
wife  of  Tammas   McQuhatty,  better 
known  as  T'nowhead,  which  was  the 
name    of   his    farm.    She   was    thus 
Bell's  mistress 

11.  Sam'l  leaned   against  the   hen- 
house as  if  all  his  desire  to  depart 
had  gone. 

12.  "  Hoo   d'ye  kin   1*11  be   at   the 
T'nowhead    the    nicht  ? "    he    asked, 
grinning  in  anticipation. 

13.  "  Ou,  I'se  warrant  ye'll  be  after 
Bell,"  said  Eppie. 

14.  "Am    no    sure    o'    that,"    said 
Sam'l,  trying   to   leer.    He  was   en- 
joying himself  now. 

15.  "  Am  no  sure  o'  that,"  he  re- 
peated,   for    Eppie    seemed    lost    in 
stitches. 

16.  "Sam'l-" 
.17-  "Ay." 


222  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

18.  "  Ye'll  be  spierin'  her  sune  noo,       Asking  her. 
I  dinna  doot  ?  " 

19.  This  took  Sam'l,  who  had  only 
been  courting  Bell  for  a  year  or  two, 
a  little  aback. 

20.  "  Hoo   d'ye  mean,   Eppie?"  he 
asked. 

21.  "  Maybe  ye'll  do't  the  nicht" 

22.  "  Na,   there's  nae   hurry/'   said 
Sam'l. 

23.  "  Weel,   we're  a'   coontin'  on't, 
Sam'l. 

24.  "  Gae  wa  wi*  ye." 

25.  "What  for  no?" 

26.  "Gae   wa  wi'  ye,"   said    Sam'l 
again. 

27.  "  Bell's     gie     an'     fon     o*    ye, 
Sam'l." 

28.  "  Ay,"  said  Sam'l. 

29.  "  But    am    dootin'   ye're    a    fell 
billy  wi'  the  lasses." 

30.  "  Ay,  oh,  I  d'na  kin,  moderate, 
moderate,"   said    Sam'l,   in   high   de- 
light. 

31.  "  I  saw  ye,"  said  Eppie,  speak- 
ing with  a  wire  in  her  mouth,  "  gaein' 
on  terr'ble  wi'  Mysy  Haggart  at  the 
pump  last  Saturday." 

32.  "We   was  juist  amoosin'   oor- 
sels,"  said  Sam'l. 

33.  "  It'll    be    nae    amoosement    to 
Mysy,"  said  Eppie,  "gin  ye  brak  her 
heart." 

34.  "Losh,  Eppie,"  said  Sam'l,  "I 
didna  think  o'  that." 

35.  "  Ye  maun  kin  weel,  Sam'l,  'at 
there's  mony  a  lass  wid  jump  at  ye." 

36.  "Ou,  weel,"  said  Sam'l,  imply- 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  223 

ing  that  a  man  must  take  these  things 
as  they  come. 

37.  "  For  ye're  a  dainty  chield  to 
look  at,  Sam'l." 

38.  "Do  ye  think  so,  Eppie?     Ay, 
ay;  oh,  I   d'na  kin  am  onything  by 
the  ordinar." 

39.  "  Ye    mayna    be,"    said    Eppie, 
"but   lasses   doesna   do   to   be   ower 
partikler." 

40.  Sam'l    resented    this,   and    pre- 
pared to  depart  again. 

41.  "Ye'll   no   tell   Bell   that?"   he 
asked  anxiously. 

42.  "Tell  her  what?" 

43.  "Aboot  me  an'  Mysy." 

44.  "  We'll     see     hoo     ye     behave 
yersel,  Sam'l." 

45.  "  No  'at  I  care,  Eppie ;  ye  can 
tell  her  gm  ye  like.     I   widna  think 
twice  o'  tellin'  her  mysel." 

46.  "  The  Lord  forgie  ye  for  leein', 
Sam'l,"  said  Eppie.  as  he  disappeared 

down  Tammy  Tosh's  close.     Here  he      Alley,  or  court, 
came  upon  Renders  Webster. 

47.  "  Ye're  late,  Sam'l,"  said  Ren- 
ders. 

48.  "What  for?" 

.  49.  "  Ou,  I  was  thinkin'  ye  wid  be 
gaen  the  length  o*  T'nowhead  the 
nicht,  an'  1  saw  Sanders  Elshioner 
makkin's  wy  there  an  oor  syne." 

50.  "  Did  ye  ?  "  cried  Sam'l,  adding 
craftily,  "  but  it's  naething  to  me." 

51.  "Tod,  lad,"  said  Renders,  "gin 
ye    dinna    buckle    to,    Sanders'll    be 
carryin'  her  off." 

52.  Sam'l  flung  back  his  head  and 
passed  on. 


224  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

53.  "  Sam'l !  "  cried  Renders  after 
him. 

54.  "  Ay,"     said     Sam'l,     wheeling 
round. 

55.  "  Gie  Bell  a  kiss  frae  me/' 

56.  The    full    force    of    this    joke 
struck  neither  all  at  once.     Sam'l  be- 
gan to  smile  at  it  as  he  turned  down 
the   school-wynd,  and  it  came  upon 
Renders  while  he  was  in  his  garden 
feeding  his  ferret.    Then  he  slapped 
his  legs  gleefully,  and  explained  the 
conceit  to  Will'um  Byars.  who  went 
into  the  house  and  thought  it  over. 

57.  There  were   twelve   or   twenty 
little  groups  of  men  in  the   square, 
which  was  lit  by  a  flare  of  oil  sus- 
pended  over   a   cadger's   cart.     Now 
and  again  a  staid  young  woman  pass- 
ed through  the  square  with  a  basket 
on  her  arm,  and  if  she  had  lingered 
long  enough  to  give  them  time,  some 
of  the  idlers  would  have  addressed 
her.    As  it  was.  they  gazed  after  her, 
and  then  grinned  to  each  other. 

58.  "Ay,  Sam'l,"  said  two  or  three 
young  men  as  Sam'l  joined  them  be- 
neath the  town  clock. 

59.  "Ay,  Davit,"  replied  Sam'l. 

60.  This   group   was    composed   of 
some  of  the  sharpest  wits  in  Thrums, 
and  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that 
they  would  let  this  opportunity  pass. 
Perhaps  when  Sam'l  joined  them  he 
knew  what  was  in  store  for  him. 

61.  "  Was    ye    lookin'    for    T'now- 
heacl's  Bell,  Sam'l?"  asked  one. 

62.  "  Or  mebbe  ye  was  wantin*  the 
miniister?"    suggested    another,    the 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  225 


same  who  had  walked  out  twice  with 
Christy  Duff  and  not  married  her 
after  all. 

63.  Sam'l  could  not  think  of  a  good 
reply  at  the  moment,  so  he  laughed 
good-naturedly. 

64.  "  Ondoobtedly  she's  a  snod  bit 
crittur,"  said  D.avit  archly. 

65.  "  An'    michty    clever    wi'    her 
fingers,"  added  Jamie  Deuchars. 

66.  "Man,   I've   thocht  o'   makkin' 
up  to  Bell  mysel,"  said  Peter  Ogle. 
"  Wid  there  be  ony  chance,  think  ye, 
Sam'l?" 

67.  "  I'm    thinkin'    she    widna    hae 
ye  for  her  first,  Pete,"  replied  Sam'l, 
in  one   of  those   happy   flashes   that 
come  to  some  men,  "but  there's  nae 
sayin'  but  what  she  micht  tak  ye  to 
finish  up  wi'." 

68.  The  unexpectedness  of  this  sal- 
ly startled  every-one.    Though  Sam'l 
did  not  set  up  for  a  wit,  however, 
like  Davit,  it  was  notorious  that  he 
could  say  a  cutting  thing  once  in  a. 
way. 

69.  "Did  ye  ever  see  Bell  reddin' 
up?  "  asked  Pete,  recovering  from  his 
overthrow.    He  was  a  man  who  bore 
no  malice. 

70.  "It's  a  sicht,"  said   Sam'l  sol- 
emnly. 

71.  "Hoo    will    that    be?"    asked 
Jamie  Deuchars. 

72.  "  It's    well    worth    yer    while," 
said   Pete,   "  to   ging   atower   to  the 
T'nowhead  an'   see.     Ye'll  mind  the 
closed-in    beds    i'    the    kitchen?    Ay, 
well,     they're     a     fell     spoilt     crew, 


226  STUDYING  THE  SHORT-STORY 

Tnowhead's  litlins,  an'  no  that  aisy       Little  ones. 

to  manage.    Th'  ither  lasses  Lisbeth's 

hae'n  had  a  michty  trouble  wi'  them. 

When  they  war  i'  the  middle  o'  their 

reddin'  rp  the  bairns  wid  come  tum- 

lin'  about  the  floor,  but,  sal,  I  assure 

ye,   Bell   didna   fash   lang  wi'  them. 

Did  she,  Sam'l?" 

73.  "  She     did    not,"     said     Sam'l, 
dropping  into  a  fine  mode  of  speech 
to  add  emphasis  to  his  remark. 

74.  "  I'll    tell    ye    what    she    did," 
said  Pete  to  the  others.    "  She  juist 
lifted  up  the  litlins,  twa  at  a  time, 
an'   flung  them   into  the  coffin-beds. 
Syne  she  snibbit  the  doors  on  them, 
an'  keepit  them  there  till  the   floor 
was  dry." 

75.  "Ay,  man,  did  she  so?"  said 
Davit  admiringly. 

76.  "  I've    seen    her    do't    mysel,'' 
said  Sam'l. 

77.  "  There's  no  a  lassie  makes  bet- 
ter   bannocks    this    side    o*    Fetter 
Lums,"  continued   Pete. 

78.  "Her   mither   tocht  her   that," 
said  Sam'l ;  "  she  was  a  gran'  han'  at 
the  bakin',  Kitty  Ogilvy." 

79.  "I've    heard     say,"     remarked 
Jamie,  putting  it  this  way,  so  as  not 
to  tie  himself  down  to  anything,  "  'at 
Bell's   scones   is   equal   to  Mag  Lu- 
nan's." 

80.  "So  they  are,"  said  Sam'l,  al- 
most fiercely. 

81.  "I    kin    she's    a    neat    han'    at 
singein'  a  hen,"  said  Pete. 

82.  "  An'  wi't  a',"  said  Davit,  "  she's 


HUMOROUS   STORIES 

a  snod,  canty  bit  stocky  in  her  Sab- 
bath claes." 

83.  "If     ony thing,     thick     in     the 
waist,"  suggested  Jamie. 

84.  "  I  dinna  see  that,"  said  Sam'l. 

85.  "  I     d'na     care     for    her    hair 
either,"    continued    Jamie,    who    was 
very  nice  in  his  tastes ;  "  something 
mair  yallowchy  wid  be  an  improve- 
ment." 

86.  "A'body  kins,"  growled  Sam'l, 
"  'at  black  hair's  the  bonniest." 

87.  The  others  chuckled. 

88.  "  Puir  Sam'l !  "  Pete  said. 

89.  Sam'l  not  being  certain  whether 
this  should  be  received  with  a  smile 
or  a  frown,  opened  his  mouth  wide  as 
a    kind    of    compromise.    This    was 
position   one  with  him  for  thinking 
things  over. 

90.  Few    Auld    Lichts,    as    I    have 
said,  went  the  length  of  choosing  a 
helpmate  for  themselves.     One  day  a 
young  man's  friends  would  see  him 
mending  the  washing-tub  of  a  maid- 
en's   mother.    They    kept    the    joke 
until    Saturday    night,    and    then    he 
learned  from  them  what  he  had  been 
after.    It  dazed  him  for  a  time,  but 
in  a  year  or  so  he  grew  accustomed 
to  the  idea,  and  they  were  then  mar- 
ried.   With    a  little   help   he   fell   in 
love  just  like  other  people. 

91.  Sam'l  was  going  the  way  of  the 
others,  but   he   found   it   difficult   to 
come   to    the    point.     He    only   went 
courting ,  once  a  week,  and  he  could 
never    take    up    the    running   at    the 
place  where  he  left  off  the  Saturday 


228  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

before.  Thus  he  had  not,  so  far, 
made  great  headway.  His  method  of 
making  up  to  Bell  had  been  to  drop 
in  at  T'nowhead  on  Saturday  nights 
and  talk  with  the  farmer  about  the 
.rinderpest. 

92.  The  farm  kitchen  was  Bell's 
testimonial.  Its  chairs,  tables,  and 
stools  were  scoured  by  her  to  the 
whiteness  of  Rob  Angus's  sawmill 
boards,  and  the  muslin  blind  on  the 
window  was  starched  like  a  child's 
pinafore.  Bell  was  brave,  too,  as 
well  as  energetic.  Once  Thrums  had 
been  overrun  with  thieves.  It  is  now 
thought  that  there  may  have  been 
only  one,  but  he  had  the  wicked 
cleverness  of  a  gang.  Such  was  his 
repute  that  there  were  weavers  who 
spoke  of  locking  their  doors  when 
they  went  from  home.  He  was  not 
very  skilful,  however,  being  generally 
caught,  and  when  they  said  they  knew 
he  was  a  robber  he  gave  them  their 
things  back  and  went  away.  If  they 
had  given  him  time  there  is  no  doubt 
that  he  would  have  gone  off  with  his 
plunder.  One  night  he  went  to 
T'nowhead,  and  Bell,  who  slept  in  the 
kitchen,  was  wakened  by  the  noise. 
She  knew  who  it  would  be,  so  she 
rose  and  dressed  herself  and  went  to 
look  for  him  with  a  candle.  The 
thief  had  not  known  what  to  do 
when  he  got  in,  and  as  it  was  very 
lonely  he  was  glad  to  see  Bell. 
She  told  him  he  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  himself,  and  would  not  let  him 
out  by  the  door  until  he  had  taken 


HUMOROUS  STORIES 

off  his  boots  so  as  not  to  soil  the 
carpet. 

93.  On      this      Saturday      evening 
Sam'l     stood     his     ground     in     the 
square,  until  by  and  by  he  found  him- 
self alone.     There  were  other  groups 
there  still,  but  his  circle  had  melted 
away.    They  went  separately,  and  no 
one  said  good-night.     Each  took  him- 
self off   slowly,   backing   out  of  the 
group  until  he  was   fairly  started. 

94.  Sam'l    looked    about    him,    and 
then,  seeing  that  the  others  had  gone, 
walked  round  the  townhouse  into  the 
darkness  of  the  brae  that  leads  down 
and  then  up  to  the  farm  of  T'now- 
head. 

95.  To  get  into  the  good  graces  of 
Lisbeth  Fargus  you  had  to  know  her 
ways  and  humour  them.     Sam'l,  who 
was  a  student  of  women,  knew  this, 
and  so,  instead  of  pushing  the  door 
open     and     walking     in,     he     went 
through    the   rather    ridiculous    cere- 
mony    of     knocking.     Sanders     El- 
shioner  was  also  aware  of  this  weak- 
ness   of    Lisbeth's,    but,    though    he 
often   made   up   his  mind   to   knock, 
the     absurdity     of     the     thing    pre- 
vented his  doing  so  when  he  reached 
the    door.    T'nowhead    himself    had 
never  got  used  to  his  wife's  refined 
notions,  and  when  any  one  knocked 
he  always  started  to  his  feet,  think- 
ing there  must  be  something  wrong. 

96.  Lisbeth  came  to  the  door,  her 
expansive  figure  blocking  the  way  in. 

97.  "  Sam'l,"  she  said. 


123O  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

98.  "  Lisbeth,"  said  Sam'l. 

99.  He  shook  hands  with  the  farm- 
er's wife,  knowing  that  she  liked  it, 
but    only    said,    "  Ay,    Bell,"    to    his 
sweetheart,  "  Ay,  T'nowhead,"  to  Mc- 
Quhatty,  and  "It's  yersel,  Sanders," 
to  his  rival. 

100.  They   were   sitting  round  the 
fire,  T'nowhead,  with  his  feet  on  the 
ribs,  wondering  why  he  felt  so  warm, 
and    Bell    darned   a   stocking,    while 
Lisbeth  kept  an  eye  on  a  goblet  full 
of  potatoes. 

101.  "  Sit  into  the  fire,  Sam'l,"  said 
the    farmer,    not,    however,    making 
way  for  him. 

102.  "  Na,   na,"    said    Sam'l,    "  I'm 
to  bide  nae  time."    Then  he  sat  into 
the  fire.     His  face  was  turned  away 
from   Bell,  and  when  she  spoke  he 
answered  her  without  looking  round. 
Sam'l  felt  a  little  anxious.     Sanders 
Elshioner,  who  had  one  leg  shorter 
than  the  other,  but  looked  well  when 
sitting,  seemed  suspiciously  at  home. 
He  asked   Bell  questions  out  of  his 
own  head,  which  was  beyond  Sam'l, 
and  once  he  said  something  to  her 
in  such  a  low  voice  that  the  others 
could      not      catch      it.    T'nowhead 
asked    curiously    what    it    was,    and 
Sanders  explained  that  he  had  only 
said,  "  Ay,  Bell,  the  morn's  the  Sab- 
bath."   There  was  nothing  startling 
in  this,  but  Sam'l  did  not  like  it.    He 
began  to  wonder  if  he  was  too  late, 
and    had    he    seen    his    opportunity 
would    have    told    Bell    of    a    nasty 
rumour  that  Sanders  intended  to  go 


HUMOROUS   STORIES  231 


over    to    the    Free    Church    if    they 
would  make  him  kirk-officer. 

103.  Sam'l    had    the    good-will    of 
T'nowhead's  wife,  who  liked  a  polite 
man.     Sanders  did  his  best,  but  from 
want  of  practice  he  constantly  made 
mistakes.     To-night,  for  instance,  he 
wore  his  hat  in  the  house  because  he 
did  not  like  to  put  up  his  hand  and 
take  it  off.     T'nowhead  had  not  taken 
his  off  either  but  that  was  because  he 
meant  to  go  out  by  and  by  and  lock 
the  byre  door.     It  was  impossible  to 
say   which   of   her    lovers    Bell   pre- 
ferred.   The  proper  course  with  an 
Auld  Licht  lassie  was  to  prefer  the 
man  who  proposed  to  her. 

104.  "  Ye'll    bide    a    wee,    an'    hae 
something   to    eat?"    Lisbeth   asked 
Sam'l,  with  her  eyes  on  the  goblet. 

105.  "  No,  I  thank  ye,"  said  Sam'l, 
with  true  gentility. 

106.  "Ye'll  better?" 

107.  "  I  dinna  think  it." 

1 08.  "Hoots  aye;  what's  to  hender 
ye?" 

109.  "  Weel,  since  ye're  sae  pressin', 
I'll  bide." 

no.  No  one  asked  Sanders  to  stay. 
Bell  could  not,  for  she  was  but  the 
servant,  and  T'nowhead  knew  that 
the  kick  his  wife  had  given  him 
meant  that  he  was  not  to  do  so  either. 
Sanders  whistled  to  show  that  he  was 
not  uncomfortable. 

in.  "Ay  then,  I'll  be  stappin'  ower 
the  brae,"  he  said  at  last. 

112.  He  did  not  go,  however. 
There  was  sufficient  pride  in  him  to 


232  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

get  him  off  his  chair,  but  only  slowly, 
for  he  had  to  get  accustomed  to  the 
notion  of  going.  At  intervals  of 
two  or  three  minutes  he  remarked 
that  he  must  now  be  going.  In  the 
same  circumstances  Sam'l  would  have 
acted  similarly.  For  a  Thrums  man 
it  is  one  of  the  hardest  things  in  life 
to  get  away  from  anywhere. 

113.  At  last  Lisbeth  saw  that  some- 
thing  must   be   done.    The   potatoes 
were  burning,  and  T'nowhead  had  an 
invitation  on  his  tongue. 

114.  "Yes,  I'll  hae  to  be  movin'," 
said  Sanders,  hopelessly,  for  the  fifth 
time. 

115.  "Guid  nicht  to  ye,  then,  San- 
ders," said  Lisbeth.    "  Gie  the   door 
a  fling-to,  ahent  ye." 

116.  Sanders,  with  a  mighty  effort, 
pulled  himself  together.     He  looked 
boldly  at  Bell,  and  then  took  off  his 
hat  carefully.     Sam'l  saw  with  mis- 
givings that  there  was  something  in 
it  which  was  not  a  handkerchief.    It 
was  a  paper  bag  glittering  with  gold 
braid,  and  contained  such  an  assort- 
ment of  sweets  as  lads  bought  for 
their  lasses  on  the  Muckle  Friday. 

117.  "Hae,     Bell,"     said     Sanders, 
handing  the  bag  to   Bell  in  an  off- 
hand way  as  if  it  were  but  a  trifle. 
Nevertheless  he  was  a  little  excited, 
for  he  went  off  without  saying  good- 
night. 

118.  No  one  spoke.    Bell's  face  was 
crimson.    T'nowhead  fidgetted  on  his 
chair,  and  Lisbeth   looked  at   Sam'l. 
The  weaver  was  strangely  calm  and 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  233 


collected,  though  he  would  have  liked 
to  know  whether  this  was  a  proposal. 

119.  "  Sit  in  by  to  the  table,  Sam'l," 
said    Lisbeth,    trying    to    look    as    if 
things    were   as    they   had   been   be- 
fore. 

120.  She  put  a  saucerful  of  butter, 
salt,  and  pepper  near  the  fire  to  melt, 
for  melted  butter  is  the  shoeing-horn 
that  helps  over  a  meal  of  potatotes. 
Sam'l,  however,  saw  what  the  hour 
required,  and  jumping  up,  he  seized 
his  bonnet. 

121.  "Hing   the   tatties   higher    up 
the    joist,    Lisbeth,"    he    said    with 
dignity;     "  Fse     be     back     in     ten 
meenits." 

122.  He  hurried  out  of  the  house, 
leaving   the   others    looking   at   each 
other. 

123.  "What  do  ye  think?"  asked 
Lisbeth. 

124.  "  I  d'na  kin,"  faltered  Bell. 

125.  "  Thae  tatties  is  lang  o'  comin' 
to  the  boil,"  said  T'nowhead. 

126.  In  some  circles   a  lover  who 
behaved  like  Sam'l  would  have  been 
suspected   of  intent  upon  his   rival's 
life,  but  neither  Bell  nor  Lisbeth  did 
the  weaver  that  injustice.     In  a  case 
of  this  kind  it  does  not  much  matter 
what  T'nowhead  thought. 

127.  The   ten   minutes    had    barely 
passed  when  Sam'l  was  back  in  the 
farm  kitchen.    He  was  too  flurried  to 
knock  this  time,  and,  indeed,  Lisbeth 
did  not  expect  it  of  him. 

128.  "  Bell,  hae !  "  he  cried,  handing 


234  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

his  sweetheart  a  tinsel  bag  twice  the 
size  of  Sander's  gift. 

129.  "  Losh  preserve's  !  "  exclaimed 
Lisbeth;     "  I'se    warrant    there's    a 
shillin's  worth." 

130.  "There's    a'    that,    Lisbeth  — 
an'  mair,"  said  Sam'l,  firmly. 

131.  "  I  thank  ye,  Sam'l,"  said  Bell, 
feeling  an   unwonted  elation   as   she 
gazed  at  the  two  paper  bags  in  her 
lap. 

132.  "Ye're       ower       extravegint, 
Sam'l,"  Lisbeth  said. 

133-  "  Not  at  all,"  said  Sam'l ;  "  not 
at  all.  But  I  widna  advise  ye  to  eat 
thae  ither  anes,  Bell  —  they're  second 
quality." 

134.  Bell   drew  back   a   step   from 
Sam'l. 

135.  "  How  do  ye  kin  ?  "  asked  the 
farmer  shortly,  for  he  liked  Sanders. 

136.  "  I   spiered  i'  the  shop,"  said 
Sam'l. 

137.  The  goblet  was   placed  on   a 
broken  plate  on  the  table  with  the 
saucer  beside  it,  and  Sam'l,  like  the 
others,  helped  himself.     What  he  did 
was   to  take  potatoes   from  the  pot 
with  his  fingers,  peel  off  their  coats, 
and   then  dip  them  into  the  butter. 
Lisbeth    would   have    liked    to    pro- 
vide knives  and  forks,  but  she  knew 
that  beyond  a  certain  point  T'now- 
head  was  master  in  his  own  house. 
As  for  Sam'l,  he  felt  victory  in  his 
hands,   and   began   to   think   that  he 
had  gone  too  far. 

138.  In     the     meantime     Sanders, 
little  witting  that  Sam'l  had  trump- 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  235 


ed  his  trick,  was  sauntering  along 
the  kirk-wynd  with  his  hat  on  the 
side  of  his  head.  Fortunately  he 
did  not  meet  the  minister. 

139.  The  courting  of   Tnowhead's 
Bell   reached   its   crisis  one   Sabbath 
about  a  month  after  the  events  above 
recorded.    The  minister  was  in  great 
force  that  day,  but  it  is  no  part  of 
mine  to  tell  how  he  bore  himself.     I 
was  there,  and  am  not  likely  to  for- 
get the  scene.    It  was  a  fateful  Sab- 
bath  for  T'nowhead's   Bell  and   her 
swains,   and   destined  to  be   remem- 
bered for  the  painful  scandal  which 
they  perpetrated   in   their   passion. 

140.  Bell    was     not    in    the    kirk. 
There  being  an  infant  of  six  months 
in   the   house   it   was   a   question   of 
either   Lisbeth   or   the    lassie's    stay- 
ing at  home  with  him,   and  though 
Lisbeth   was   unselfish    in   a   general 
way,    she    could    not   resist   the   de- 
light  of  going  to  church.     She  had 
nine  children  besides  the  baby,   and 
being  but  a  woman,  it  was  the  pride 
of  her  life  to  march  them  into  the 
T'nowhead    pew,    so    well    watched 
that  they  dared  not  misbehave,  and 
so  tightly  packed  that  they  could  not 
fall.     The     congregation     looked     at 
that    pew,    the    mothers     enviously, 
when  they  sang  the  lines  — 

"  Jerusalem  like  a  city  is 
Compactly   built   together." 

141.  The   first  half  of  the   service 
had  been  gone  through  on  this  par- 


236  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

ticular  Sunday  without  anything  re- 
markable happening.  It  was  at  the 
end  of  the  psalm  which  preceded  the 
sermon  that  Sanders  Elshioner,  who 
sat  near  the  door,  lowered  his  head 
until  it  was  no  higher  than  the  pews, 
and  in  that  attitude,  looking  almost 
like  a  four-footed  animal,  slipped  out 
of  the  church.  In  their  eagerness 
to  be  at  the  sermon  many  of  the 
congregation  did  not  notice  him,  and 
those  who  did  put  the  matter  by  in 
their  minds  for  future  investigation. 
Sam'l,  however,  could  not  take  it 
so  coolly.  From  his  seat  in  the  gal- 
lery he  saw  Sanders  disappear,  and 
his  mind  misgave  him.  With  the 
true  lover's  instinct  he  understood 
it  all.  Sanders  had  been  struck  by 
the  fine  turn-out  in  the  T'nowhead's 
pew.  Bell  was  alone  at  the  farm. 
What  an  opportunity  to  work  one's 
way  up  to  a  proposal.  T'nowhead 
was  so  overrun  with  children  that 
such  a  chance  seldom  occurred,  ex- 
cept on  a  Sabbath.  Sanders,  doubt- 
less, was  off  to  propose,  and  he, 
Sam'l,  was  left  behind. 

142.  The  suspense  was  terrible. 
Sam'l  and  Sanders  had  both  known 
all  along  that  Bell  would  take  the 
first  of  the  two  who  asked  her. 
Even  those  who  thought  her  proud 
admitted  that  she  was  modest.  Bit- 
terly the  weaver  repented  having 
waited  so  long.  Now  it  was  too  late. 
In  ten  minutes  Sanders  would  be  at 
T'nowhead;  in  an  hour  all  would  be 
ov~r.  Sam'l  rose  to  his  feet  in  a  daze. 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  237 


His  mother  pulled  him  down  by  the 
coat-tail,  and  his  father  shook  him, 
thinking  he  was  walking  in  his  sleep. 
He  tottered  past  them,  however, 
hurried  up  the  aisle,  which  was  so 
narrow  that  Dan'l  Ross  could  only 
reach  his  seat  by  walking  sideways, 
and  was  gone  befor*  the  minister 
could  do  more  than  stop  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  whirl  and  gape  in  horror 
after  him. 

143.  A  number  of  the  congregation 
felt  that   day  the   advantage  of   sit- 
ting in  the  loft.    What  was  a  mys- 
tery to  those  downstairs  was  reveal- 
ed to  them.     From  the  gallery  win- 
dows they  had  a  fine  open  view  to 
the    south ;    and    as    Sam'l   took   the 
common,    which    was    a    short    cut 
though  a  steep  ascent,  to  T'nowhead, 
he    was   never   out   of   their   line   of 
vision.     Sanders  was  not  to  be  seen, 
but  they  guessed  rightly  the  reason 
why.    Thinking  he  had  ample  time, 
he  had  gone  round  by  the  main  road 
to  save  his  boots  —  perhaps  a  little 
scared  by  what  was  coming.     Sam'1's 
design  was  to  forestall  him  by  taking 
the  shorter  path  over  the  burn  and 
up  the  common. 

144.  It  was  a  race  for  a  wife,  and 
several  onlookers  in  the  gallery  brav- 
ed the  minister's   displeasure  to  see 
who     won.    Those     who      favoured 
Sam'1's  suit  exultingly  saw  him  leap 
the    stream,    while    the    friends    of 
Sanders  fixed  their  eyes  on  the  top  of 
the   common  where   it   ran   into   the 
road.     Sanders  must  come  into  sight 


238  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

there,  and  the  one  who  reached  this 
point  first  would  get  Bell. 

145.  As  Auld  Lichts  do  not  walk 
abroad     on     the     Sabbath,     Sanders 
would  probably  not  be  delayed.    The 
chances  were  in  his  favour.     Had  it 
been  any  other  day  in  the  week  Sam'l 
might    have    run.     So    some    of    the 
congregation     in    the    gallery    were 
thinking,    when    suddenly    they    saw 
him  bend  low  and  then  take  to  his 
heels.     He  had  caught  sight  of  San- 
der's  head  bobbing   over   the   hedge 
that    separated    the    road    from    the 
common,    and    feared    that    Sanders 
might    see    him.    The    congregation 
who  could  crane  their  necks  sufficient- 
ly  saw    a   black  object,   which    they 
guessed  to  be  the  carter's  hat,  crawl- 
ing    along     the     hedge-top.     For     a 
moment  it  was  motionless,  and  then 
it  shot  ahead.     The  rivals  .had  seen 
each  other.    It  was  now  a  hot  race. 
Sam'l,  dissembling  no  longer,  clatter- 
ed up  the  common,  becoming  smaller 
and  smaller  to  the  onlookers  as  he 
neared  the  top.    More  than  one  per- 
son in  the  gallery  almost  rose  to  their 
feet  in  their  excitement.     Sam'l  had 
it.     No,  Sanders  was  in  front.     Then 
the    two    figures    disappeared    from 
view.     They  seemed  to  run  into  each 
other  at  the  top  of  the  brae,  and  no 
one   could  say  who   was   first.    The 
congregation  looked  at  one  another. 
Some    of    them    perspired.    But    the 
minister  held  on   his  course. 

146.  Sam'l  had  just  been  in  time  to 
cut  Sanders  out.     It  was  the  weaver's 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  239 


saving  that  Sanders  saw  this  when 
his  rival  turned  the  corner;  for 
Sam'l  was  sadly  blown.  Sanders 
took  in  the  situation  and  gave  in  at 
once.  The  last  hundred  yards  of 
the  distance  he  covered  at  his  leisure, 
and  when  he  arrived  at  his  destina- 
tion he  did  not  go  in.  It  was  a  fine 
afternoon  for  the  time  of  the  year, 
and  he  went  round  to  have  a  look 
at  the  pig,  about  which  T'nowhead 
was  a  little  sinfully  puffed  up. 

147.  "Ay,"    said    Sanders,    digging 
his   fingers  critically   into  the  grunt- 
ing animal ;  "  quite  so." 

148.  "  Grnmph,"  said  the  pig,  get- 
ting reluctantly  to  his  feet. 

149.  "  Ou   ay;   yes,"   said   Sanders, 
thoughtfully. 

150.  Then  he  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of    the    sty,    and    looked    long    and 
silently    at    an    empty    bucket.     But 
whether  his  thoughts  were  of  T'now- 
head's   Bell,  whom  he   had   lost   for 
ever,  or  of  the  food  the  farmer  fed 
his  pig  on,  is  not  known. 

151.  "Lord  preserve's!    Are  ye  no 
at  the  kirk?"  cried  Bell,  nearly  drop- 
ping the  baby  as  Sam'l  broke  into  the 
room. 

152.  "  Bell !  "  cried   Sam'l. 

153.  Then   T'nowhead's   Bell  knew 
that  her  hour  had  come. 

154.  "  Sam'l,"  she  faltered. 

155.  "Will    ye    hae's,    Bell?"    de- 
manded Sam'l,  glaring  at  her  sheep- 
ishly. 

156.  "Ay,"    answered    Bell. 

157.  Sam'l  fell  into  a  chair. 


24O  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

158.  "  Bring's  drink  o'  water,  Bell," 
he  said.  But  Bell  thought  the  oc- 
casion required  milk,  and  there  was 
none  in  the  kitchen.  She  went  out 
to  the  byre,  still  with  the  baby  in  her 
arms,  and  saw  Sanders  Elshioner 
sitting  gloomily  on  the  pigsty. 

159-  "Weel,  Bell,"  said  Sanders. 

160.  "I    thocht   ye'd    been    at    the 
kirk,  Sanders,"  said  Bell. 

161.  Then  there  was  a  silence  be- 
tween them. 

162.  "  Has  Sam'l  spiered  ye,  Bell?  " 
asked  Sanders,  stolidly. 

163.  "  Ay,"  said  Bell  again,  and  this 
time   there   was   a   tear   in   her   eye. 
Sanders    was    little    better    than    an 
"  orra  man,"  and  Sam'l  was  a  weav- 
er,    and     yet—    But     it     was     too 
late   now.     Sanders   gave   the   pig   a 
vicious  poke  with  a  stick,  and  when 
it  had  ceased  to  grunt,  Bell  was  back 
in   the    kitchen.     She   had    forgotten 
about  the  milk,  however,  and  Sam'l 
only  got   water  after   all. 

164.  In  after  days,  when  the  story 
of  Bell's  wooing  was  told,  there  were 
some  who  held  that  the  circumstances 
would  have  almost  justified  the  lassie 
in  giving  Sam'l  the  go-by.     But  these 
perhaps  forgot  that  her  other  lover 
was  in  the  same  predicament  as  the 
accepted  one  —  that  of  the  two,  in- 
deed, he  was  the  more  to  blame,  for 
he  set  off  to  T'nowhead  on  the  Sab- 
bath of  his  own  accord,  while  Sam'l 
only  ran  after  him.    And  then  there 
is  no  one  to  say  for  certain  whether 
Bell    heard    of    her    suitors'    delin- 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  24! 


quencies  until  Lisbeth's  return  from 
the  kirk.  Sam'l  could  never  remem- 
ber whether  he  told  her,  and  Bell 
was  not  sure  whether,  if  he  did,  she 
took  it  in.  Sanders  was  greatly  in 
demand  for  weeks  after  to  tell  what 
he  knew  of  the  affair,  but  though  he 
was  twice  asked  to  tea  to  the  manse 
among  the  trees,  and  subjected  there- 
after to  ministerial  cross-examina- 
tions, this  is  all  he  told.  He  re- 
mained at  the  pigsty  until  Sam'l  left 
the  farm,  when  he  joined  him  at  the 
top  of  the  brae,  and  they  went  home 
together. 

165.  "It's    yersel,     Sanders,"     said 
Sam'l. 

166.  "It   is    so,    Sam'l/'    said    San- 
ders. 

167.  "Very  cauld,"    said   Sam'l. 

168.  "  Blawy,"  assented  Sanders. 

169.  After   a   pause  — 

170.  "  Sam'l,"   said    Sanders. 

171.  "Ay." 

172.  "  I'm  hearin'  yer  to  be  mairit" 
173-  "Ay." 

174.  "  Weel,  Sam'l  she's  a  snod  bit 
lassie." 

175.  "  Thank  ye,"  said  Sam'l. 

176.  "I  had  ance  a  kin'  o'  notion 
o'  Bell  mysel,"  continued  Sanders. 

177.  "Ye  had?" 

178.  "Yes,     Sam'l;    but    I    thocht 
better    o't." 

179.  "Hoo     d'ye     mean?"     asked 
Sam'l,  a  little  anxiously. 

180.  "  Weel,    Sam'l,    mairitch    is    a 
terrible  responsibeelity." 

181.  "It  is  so,"  said  Sam'l,  wincing. 


242  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

182.  "An'  no  the   thing  to  tak  up 
withoot  consecderation." 

183.  "  But  it's  a  blessed  and  hon- 
ourable  state,   Sanders ;   ye've  heard 
the  minister  on't." 

184.  "  They     say,"     continued     the 
relentless  Sanders,  "  'at  the  minister 
doesna  get  on  sair  wi'  the  wife  him- 
sel." 

185.  "  So    they    do,"    cried    Sam'l, 
with  a  sinking  at  the  heart. 

186.  "I've     been     telt,"      Sanders 
went  on,  "  'at  gin  ye  can  get  the  up- 
per han'  o'  the  wife  for  a  while  at 
first,    there's    the    mair    chance    o'    a 
harmonious  exeestence." 

187.  "  Bell's    no    the    lassie,"    said 
Sam'l,    appealingly,    "to    thwart    her 
man." 

188.  Sanders  smiled. 

189.  "  D'ye  ye   think   she   is,   San- 
ders?" 

190.  "Weel,  Sam'l,  I  d'na  want  to 
fluster  ye,  but  she's  been  ower  lang 
wi'  Lisbeth  Fargus  no  to  hae  learnt 
her   ways.    An    a'body   kins   what   a 
life  T'nowhead  has  wi'  her." 

191.  "  Guid  sake,  Sanders,  hoo  did 
ye  no  speak  o'  this  afore  ?  " 

192.  "  I  thocht  ye  kent  o't,  Sam'l." 

193.  They    had    now    reached    the 
square,  and  the  U.  P.  kirk  was  com- 
ing out.    The  Auld  Licht  kirk  would 
be  half  an  hour  yet. 

194.  "  But,    Sanders/'    said    Sam'l, 
brightening  up,  "  ye  was  on  yer  wy  to 
spier  her  yersel." 

195.  "I  was,  Sam'l,"  said  Sanders, 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  243 


"  and  I  canna  but  be  thankfu'  ye  was 
ower  quick  for's." 

196.  "  Gin't  hadna  been  you,"  said 
Sam'l,  "  I  wid  never  hae  thocht  o't." 

197.  "  I'm     sayin'     naething     agin 
Bell,"  pursued  the  other,  "but,  man 
Sam'l,   a   body   should   be   mair   de- 
leeberate  in  a  thing  o'  the  kind." 

198.  "  It  was  michty  hurried,"  said 
Sam'l,  woefully. 

199.  "  It's  a  serious  thing  to  spier 
a  lassie,"   said    Sanders. 

200.  "  It's    an    awfu'    thing,"    said 
Sam'l. 

201.  "  But  we'll  hope  for  the  best," 
added  Sanders,  in  a  hopeless  voice. 

202.  They  were  close  to  the  Tene- 
ments now,  and   Sam'l  looked  as  if 
he  were  on  his  way  to  be  hanged. 

203.  "Sam'l?" 

204.  "  Ay,    Sanders." 

205.  "  Did    ye  —  did    ye    kiss    her, 
Sam'l?" 

206.  "  Na." 

207.  "Hoo?" 

208.  "  There  was  varra  little  time, 
Sanders." 

209.  "  Half  an  'oor,"  said  Sanders. 

210.  "Was    there?    Man    Sanders, 
to   tell   ye   the   truth,   I   never  thoct 
o't." 

211.  Then    the    soul    of    Sanders 
Elshioner   was    filled   with    contempt 
for  Sam'l  Dickie. 

212.  The    scandal    blew    over.    At 
first  it  was  expected  that  the  minis- 
ter  would   interfere   to   prevent   the 
union,   but   beyond    intimating    from 
the  pulpit  that  the  souls  of  Sabbath- 


244  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

breakers  were  beyond  praying  for, 
and  then  praying  for  Sam'l  and  San- 
ders at  great  length,  with  a  word 
thrown  in  for  Bell,  he  let  things  take 
their  course.  Some  said  it  was  be- 
cause he  was  always  frightened  lest 
his  young  men  should  intermarry 
with  other  denominations,  but  San- 
ders explained  it  differently  to  Sam'l. 

213.  "  I  hav'na  a  word  to  say  agin 
the  minister/'  he  said,  "they're  gran* 
prayers,  but,  Sam'l,  he's  a  mairit  man 
himsel." 

214.  "He's  a*  the  better  for  that, 
Sanders,  isna  he?" 

215.  "Do  ye  no  see,"  asked   San- 
ders, compassionately,  "  'at  he's  try- 
in'  to  mak  the  best  o't?  " 

216.  "  Oh,     Sanders,     man !  "     said 
Sam'l. 

217.  "  Cheer  up,  Sam'l,"  said  San- 
ders, "  it'll  sune  be  ower." 

218.  Their  having  been  rival  suit- 
ors   had    not    interfered    with    their 
friendship.     On    the    contrary,    while 
they    had    hitherto    been    mere    ac- 
quaintances, they  became  inseparables 
as    the   wedding-day   drew    near.     It 
was  noticed  that  they  had  much  to 
say  to  each  other,  and  that  when  they 
could  not  get  a  room  to  themselves 
they  wandered  about  together  in  the 
churchyard.     When   Sam'l   had   any- 
thing to  tell  Bell  he  sent  Sanders  to 
tell   it,  and   Sanders  did  as  he  was 
bid.    There    was     nothing    that     he 
would  not  have  done  for  Sam'l. 

219.  The    more    obliging    Sanders 
was,  however,  the  sadder  Sam'l  grew. 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  245 


He  never  laughed  now  on  Saturdays, 
and  sometimes  his  loom  was  silent 
half  the  day.  Sam'l  felt  that  San- 
ders's  was  the  kindness  of  a  friend 
for  a  dying  man. 

220.  It  was  to  be  a  penny  wedding, 
and  Lisbeth  Fargus  said  it  was  del- 
icacy that  made  Sam'l  superintend  the 
fitting-up    of    the    barn    by    deputy. 
Once  he  came  to   see   it  in  person, 
but  he  looked  so  ill  that  Sanders  had 
to  see  him  home.    This  was  on  the 
Thursday    afternoon,    and    the   wed- 
ding was  fixed  for  Friday. 

221.  "  Sanders,       Sanders,"       said 
Sam'l,  in  a  voice  strangely  unlike  his 
own,  "it'll  a*  be  ower  by  this  time 
the  morn." 

222.  "  It  will,"  said  Sanders. 

223.  "If  I  had  only  kent  her  lang- 
er,"  continued  Sam'l. 

224.  "  It  wid  hae  been  safer,"  said 
Sanders. 

225.  "Did  ye  see  the  yallow  floor       Flower, 
in  Bell's  bonnet?"  asked  the  accept- 
ed swain. 

226.  "  Ay,"  said  Sanders,  reluctant- 
ly. 

227.  "  I'm  dootin' —  I'm  sair  dootin' 
she's  but  a  flichty,  licht-hearted  crit- 
tur  after  a'." 

228.  "  I    had    ay    my    suspeecions 
o't,"  said  Sanders. 

229.  "  Ye  hae  kent  her  langer  than 
me,"  said  Sam'l. 

230.  "  Yes,"     said     Sanders,     "  but 
there's    nae    gettin'    at    the    heart    o' 
women.     Man   Sam'l  they're  desper- 
ate cunnin'." 


246  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

231.  "I'm  dootin't ;  I'm  sair  doot- 
in't." 

232.  "  It'll    be    a    warnin'    to    ye, 
Sam'l,  no  to  be  in  sic  a  hurry  i'  the 
futur,"  said  Sanders. 

233.  Sam'l  groaned. 

234.  "  Ye'll    be    gaein    up    to    the 
manse   to   arrange    wi'    the   minister 
the  morn's  mornin',"  continued  San- 
ders, in  a  subdued  voice. 

235.  Sam'l  looked  wistfully  at  his 
friend. 

236.  "  I    canna    do't,    Sanders,"   he 
said,  "  I  canna  do't." 

237.  "  Ye  maun,"  said  Sanders. 

238.  "It's  aisy  to   speak,"  retorted 
Sam'l,  bitterly. 

239.  "  We    have    a'    oor    troubles, 
Sam'l,"     said     Sanders,     soothingly, 
"  an'  every  man  maun  bear  his  ain 
burdens.    Johnny       Davie's       wife's 
dead,  an'  he's  no  repinin'." 

240.  "  Ay,"     said     Sam'l,     "  but     a 
death's  no  a  mairitch.    We  hae  haen 
deaths  in  our  family  too." 

241.  "It  may  a'  be  for  the  best," 
added  Sanders,  "  an'  there  wid  be  a 
michty  talk  i'  the  hale  country-side 
gin    ye    didna    ging   to    the    minister 
like  a  man." 

242.  "  I  maun  hae  langer  to  think 
o't,"  said  Sam'l. 

243.  "  Bell's  mairitch  is  the  morn," 
said  Sanders,  decisively. 

244.  Sam'l  glanced  up  with  a  wild 
look  in  his  eyes. 

245.  "  Sanders,"  he  cried. 

246.  "Sam'l?" 

547.  "  Ye  hae  been  a  guid  friend  to 


HUMOROUS  STORIES  247 


me,   Sanders,  in  this  sair  affliction." 

248.  "  Nothing  ava,"  said  Sanders ; 
"  dount   mention'd." 

249.  "  But,  Sanders,  ye  canna  deny 
but  what  your  rinnin  oot  o'  the  kirk 
that  awfu'  day  was  at  the  bottom  o'd 
a'." 

250.  "  It    was    so,"    said    Sanders, 
bravely. 

251.  "  An'  ye   used  to  be   fond  o' 
Bell,  Sanders." 

252.  "  I  dinna  deny't." 

253.  "  Sanders  laddie,"  said  Sam'l, 
bending  forward  and   speaking  in  a 
wheedling  voice,  "  I  aye  thocht  it  was 
you  she  likeit." 

254.  "  I  had  some  sic  idea  mysel," 
said  Sanders. 

255.  "  Sanders,    I    canna    think    to 
pairt   twa    fowk    sae   weel    suited  to 
ane  anither  as  you  an'  Bell." 

256.  "  Canna  ye,  Sam'l  ?  " 

257.  "  She  wid  mak  ye  a  guid  wife, 
Sanders.     I  hae  studied  her  weel,  and 
she's   a  thrifty,   douce,   clever   lassie. 
Sanders,  there's  no  the   like  o'  her. 
Mony  a  time,  Sanders,  I  hae  said  to 
mysel,  There's  a  lass  ony  man  micht 
be    prood    to    tak.    A'body   says    the 
same,     Sanders.    There's     nae     risk 
ava,  man :  nane  to  speak  o'.     Tak  her, 
laddie,  tak  her,  Sanders ;  it's  a  grand 
chance,  Sanders.     She's  yours  for  the 
spierin.     I'll  gie  her  up,  Sanders." 

258.  "Will  ye,  though?"  said  San- 
ders. 

259.  "What     d'ye     think?"     said 
Sam'l. 


248  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

260.  "  If  ye  \vid  rayther,"  said  San- 
ders, politely. 

261.  "  There's   my  ban'  on't,"   said 
Sam'l.    "Bless    ye,     Sanders;    ye've 
been  a  true  frien'  to  me." 

262.  Then    they    shook    hands    for 
the  first  time  in  their  lives ;  and  soon 
afterwards    Sanders    struck    up    the 
brae  to  T'nowhead. 

263.  Next  morning  Sanders   Elsh- 
ioner,   who  had  been  very  busy  the 
night    before,    put    on    his    Sabbath 
clothes  and  strolled  up  to  the  manse. 

264.  "But  — but  where  is  Sam'l?" 
asked  the  minister ;  "  I  must  see  him- 
self." 

265.  "It's     a     new     arrangement," 
said  Sanders. 

266.  "  What    do    you    mean,    San- 
ders?" 

267.  "  Bell's  to  marry  me,"  explain- 
ed Sanders. 

268.  "But  — but   what   does    Sam'l 
say?" 

269.  "  He's  willin',"  said  Sanders. 

270.  "And  Bell?" 

271.  "  She's  willin',  too.     She  pre- 
fers't." 

272.  "  It     is     unusual,"     said     the 
minister. 

273.  "  It's   a'   richt,"   said   Sanders. 

274.  "  Well,  you  know  best,"   said 
the  minister. 

275.  "  You  see  the  hoose  was  taen, 
at     ony     rate,"     continued     Sanders. 
"  An  I'll  juist  ging  in  til't  instead  o' 
Sam'l." 

276.  "  Quite  so." 


HUMOROUS   STORIES  249 


277.  "An'  I  cudna  think  to  disap- 
point the  lassie." 

278.  "  Your     sentiments     do     you 
credit,   Sanders,"   said   the   minister; 
"  but  I  hope  you  do  not  enter  upon 
the  blessed  state  of  matrimony  with- 
out full  consideration  of  its  respon- 
sibilities.    It    is    a    serious    business, 
marriage." 

279.  "  It's   a'   that,"    said    Sanders, 
"but  I'm  willin'  to  stan'  the  risk." 

280.  So,    as    soon    as    it   could    be 
done,     Sanders    Elishioner    took    to 
wife  T'nowhead's  Bell,  and  I  remem- 
ber   seeing    Sam'l    Dickie    trying    to 
dance  at  the  penny  wedding. 

281.  Years  afterwards  it  was  said 
in    Thrums    that    Sam'l    had   treated 
Bell   badly,   but   he   was   never   sure 
about  it  himself. 

282.  "  It     was     a     near     thing  —  a 
michty   near   thing,"   he   admitted  in 
the  square. 

283.  "  They  say,"  some  other  weav- 
er   would    remark,    "  'at    it   was   you 
Bell  liked  best." 

284.  "  I  d'na  kin,"  Sam'l  would  re- 
ply, "  but  there's  nae  doot  the  lassie 
was    fell    fond    o'    me.     On,    a    mere 
passin'  fancy's  ye  micht  say." 


SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 

1.  In  a  few  sentences,  state  whether  the  humor  of  this  story 
centers  in  the  central   situation,  the   several  incidents,  the  dia- 
logue, the  character,  or  in  the  climax. 

2.  If  in  more  than  one  element,  name  them  in  the  order  of 
their  interest,  or  humor,  to  you. 


25O  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

3.  Does  the  humor  go  to  the  limit  of  silliness  at  any  point? 

4.  Point  out  any  passages  which  are  serio-comic. 

5.  Define    (a)    Farce,    (b)    Burlesque,    (c)    Comedy,    (d)    Wit, 
(e)   Satire. 

6.  Point  out  passages  in  this  or  any  other  stories  which  illus- 
trate the  foregoing  types. 

7.  Name    other    humorous    stories    by    O.    Henry    and    J.    M. 
Barrie. 

8.  Name  the  best  humorous  story  you  know. 


TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  HUMOROUS  STORIES 

'  The  Jumping  Frog  of  Calaveras,"  Mark  Twain,  in 
Short  Stories  and  Sketches,  Vol.  I. 

"  Mike  Grady's  Safety,"  Will  Lewis,  Everybody's  Maga- 
zine, Aug.,  1905. 

"  Their  First  Formal  Call,"  Grace  MacGowan  Cooke,  in 
volume  of  same  title. 

"The.  Day  of  the  Dog/'  George  Barr  McCutcheon,  in 
volume  of  same  title. 

"  Edgar,  the  Choir-Boy  Uncelestial,"  McClure's  Maga- 
zine, Jan.,  1902. 

"  The  Pope's  Mule,"  Alphonse  Daudet,  translated  in 
Short-Story  Masterpieces. 

"  Colonel  Starbottle  for  the  Plaintiff,"  Bret  Harte,  Har- 
per's Magazine,  Mar.,  1901. 

"  The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft,"  O.  Henry,  in  Cabbages 
and  Kings. 

"  The  King  of  Boyville,"  William  Allen  White,  in  Tales 
from  McClure's. 

"  The  Bob-tailed  Car,"  Brander  Matthews,  in  The  Family 
Tree. 


V 
STORIES  OF  SETTING 

The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat.—  BRET  HARTE 
Moonlight. —  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 


251 


It  is  the  habit  of  my  imagination  to  strive  after  as  full  a  vision 
of  the  medium  in  which  a  character  moves  as  of  the  character 
itself.  The  psychological  causes  which  prompted  me  to  give 
such  details  of  Florentine  life  and  history  as  I  have  given  [in 
Romola]  are  precisely  the  same  as  those  which  determined  me 
in  giving  the  details  of  English  village  life  in  Silas  Marner  or 
the  "  Dodson "  life,  out  of  which  were  developed  the  destinies 
of  poor  Tom  and  Maggie. —  GEORGE  ELIOT,  quoted  in  her  Life  by 
J.  W.  CROSS. 


252 


STORIES  OF  SETTING 

"  Setting  consists  of  the  circumstances,  material  and 
immaterial,  in  which  the  characters  are  seen  to  move  in 
the  story.  Its  elements  are  time,  place,  occupations,  and 
(I  lack  a  more  expressive  word)  conditions."  l 

To  be  classified  properly  as  a  story  of  setting,  a  nar- 
rative must  be  more  than  merely  rich  in  local-color  —  as 
the  characteristic  environment  of  a  certain  district,  as  set 
fo^th  in  fiction,  is  often  called.  The  true  story  of  setting 
is  one  in  which  the  setting  has  a  vital  bearing  on  the 
natures  or  the  destinies  of  the  characters.  To  be  sure, 
the  setting  of  a  story,  like  the  staging  of  a  play,  has  an 
important  part  in  the  realistic  presentation  of  the  scene, 
but  setting  assumes  a  predominating  part  when  it  actually 
moves  the  characters  to  certain  deciding  actions,  as  do  the 
snow-storm  in  "  The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat,"  and  the 
soft  light  of  the  moon  in  "  Moonlight." 

The  local-color  story  is  one  which  could  not  have  been 
set  elsewhere  without  vitally  changing,  that  is  to  say 
destroying,  the  story.  For  example,  Balzac's  "  The  Un- 
known Masterpiece  "  is  set  almost  entirely  in  an  artist's 
studio.  The  story  would  be  slain  by  dragging  it  away 
from  that  atmosphere.  But  it  is  also  a  story  of  setting, 
because,  whatever  internal  influences  also  affected  the 

1  From  the  author's  Writing  the  Short-Story,  p.  149,  which  see  for  a  chap- 
ter on  "  The  Setting  of  the  Story." 

253 


254  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

characters,  the  setting  influences  their  destinies  —  the 
men  and  the  woman  live  lives  as  determined  by  their  sur- 
roundings. "  Mateo  Falcone,"  too,  is  a  story  of  setting, 
but  not  primarily  so ;  for  while  it  could  have  happened 
only  in  Corsica,  and  the  local-color  is  singularly  vivid,  it 
it  primarily  a  story  of  human  motive  and  action. 

Because  of  the  powerful  effect  of  environment  upon 
character  —  in  fiction  just  as  in  real  life  —  the  reader 
often  judges  of  coming  events  by  the  feeling  of  the  set- 
ting. The  stage  manager  knows  this,  too,  and  accom- 
panies, or  even  forecasts,  a  moral  crisis  by  having  lights, 
music,  sounds,  and  other  stage  accessories  harmonize  with 
the  mood  of  the  actors.  Or,  contrariwise,  the  tone  of  the 
piece  may  best  be  brought  out  by  a  setting  in  contrast. 

Observe  how  in  the  two  stories  illustrating  this  type 
the  authors  never  draw  pictures  of  costumes  and  scenery 
just  for  the  sake  of  description,  as  beginners  might  do. 
The  setting,  to  Harte  and  Maupassant,  is  vitally  a  part 
of  the  story,  and  any  unnecessary  detail  would  mar  the 
harmony  of  the  whole.  Too  much  were  worse  than  too 
little. 

"  When  the  characters  live,  move,  and  have  their  being 
in  the  setting,  the  result  is  '  atmosphere/  Atmosphere  is 
thus  an  effect.  It  is  felt,  not  seen.  Through  its  medium 
the  reader  must  see  all  the  action,  yes,  all  the  details  of 
the  story.  Atmosphere  gives  value  to  the  tones  of  fic- 
tion as  in  real  life  it  does  to  landscape.  The  hills  are 
actually  the  same  in  cloud  and  in  sunshine,  but  the  eye 
sees  them  as  different  through  the  mediate  atmosphere 
And  so  setting  and  characters,  perfectly  adjusted,  make 


STORIES   OF    SETTING  255 

the  reader,  that  is  to  say  the  beholder,  see  the  story  in 
the  very  tones  the  literary  artist  desires.  A  story  of  the 
sea  has  an  atmosphere  of  its  own,  but  the  atmosphere 
does  not  consist  merely  of  the  accurately  colored  picture 
of  sea  and  strand  and  sailor  and  ship  and  sky.  The 
whole  story  is  informed  with  the  spirit  of  the  sea  —  its 
tang  clings  to  the  garments,  its  winds  breathe  through 
every  passage,  its  wonderful  lights  and  glooms  tone  the 
whole  story.  Without  it  the  story  would  be  a  poor  thing, 
bloodless  and  inert."  x 

HARTE  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

Francis  Bret  Harte  was  born  in  Albany,  New  York, 
August  25,  1839,  of  gentle  parents.  Abandoning  his 
common-school  education  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  he  fol- 
lowed the  lure  of  the  gold  craze  to  California,  but  neither 
teaching  nor  mining  enriched  him,  so  in  1857  he  became 
a  compositor  on  the  Golden  Era,  San  Francisco.  He  then 
edited  the  Calif ornian,  and  in  1864  was  appointed  secre- 
tary of  the  branch  Mint,  remaining  until  1870.  Two 
years  before,  however,  he  had  become  editor  of  the  new 
Overland  Monthly,  where  some  of  his  best  work  ap- 
peared. This  position  did  not  prove  permanent,  and  even 
less  so  was  that  of  the  professorship  of  "  recent  litera- 
ture "  in  the  University  of  California,  for  in  1871  he 
removed  to  New  York.  In  1878  he  became  United  States 
Consul  at  Crefeld,  Germany,  and  in  1880  was  transferred 
to  Glasgow,  Scotland,  holding  this  post  until  1885.  His 

1  Writing  the  Short-Story,  pp.   151-152. 


256  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

later  life  was  spent  chiefly  in  London,  where  his  brilliant 
talents  brought  him  the  full  recognition  of  litterateurs. 
He  died  in  London,  May  6,  1902. 

Bret  Harte  was  a  poet,  critic,  novelist,  and  short-story 
writer.  His  novels  give  him  no  such  claim  to  fame  as 
do  his  other  writings.  His  best-known  dialect  verses 
are  "  The  Society  Upon  the  Stanislaus,"  "  Jim,"  "  Dick- 
ens in  Camp,"  "  Dow's  Flat,"  and  "  Plain  Language 
From  Truthful  James"  (often  called  "The  Heathen 
Chinee").  His  best  sketches  and  short-stories  include 
"The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,"  "An  Heiress  of  Red 
Dog,"  "Higgles,"  "Tennessee's  Partner,"  "  M'liss," 
"  The  Idyl  of  Red  Gulch,"  "  Brown  of  Calaveras,"  and 
"  The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat  " —  which  was  first  pub- 
lished in  The  Overland  Monthly,  January,  1869. 

If  artistic  repression,  dramatic  feeling,  mingled  humor 
and  pathos,  deft  character  drawing,  a  sure  sense  of  a 
"  good  story,"  and  the  ability  to  win  the  reader  in  spite 
of  himself  —  if  the  certain  possession  of  all  these  are 
marks  of  fictional  genius,  surely  Bret  Harte  deserves  the 
name.  For  themes,  he  chose  —  and  doubtless  over- 
colored  at  times  —  the  people  and  the  happenings  of  '49 
during  the  gold  craze,  and  not  a  few  have  charged  him 
with  a  fondness  for  heroes  and  heroines  of  undoubted 
reputations  —  for  evil.  Social  outcasts,  they  say,  he 
treated  too  tenderly.  But  Bret  Harte  himself  effectively 
answered  this  criticism  when  he  said : 

"  When  it  shall  be  proven  to  him  that  communities  are 
degraded  and  brought  to  guilt  and  crime,  suffering  or 


STORIES   OF   SETTING  257 

destitution,  from  a  predominance  of  this  quality  [too 
much  mercy]  ;  when  he  shall  see  pardoned  ticket-of-leave 
men  elbowing  men  of  austere  lives  out  of  situation  and 
position,  and  the  repentant  Magdalen  supplanting  the 
blameless  virgin  in  society,  then  he  will  lay  aside  his 
pen  and  extend  his  hand  to  the  new  Draconian  discipline 
in  fiction.  But  until  then  he  will,  without  claiming  to  be 
a  religious  man  or  a  moralist,  but  simply  as  an  artist, 
reverently  and  humbly  conform  to  the  rules  laid  down  by 
a  Great  Poet,  who  created  the  parable  of  the  '  Prodigal 
Son  '  and  the  '  Good  Samaritan/  whose  works  have  lasted 
eighteen  hundred  years,  and  will  remain  when  the  present 
writer  and  his  generation  are  forgotten." 

The  secret  of  the  American  short  story  is  the  treatment  of 
characteristic  American  life,  with  absolute  knowledge  of  its 
peculiarities  and  sympathy  with  its  methods ;  with  no  fastidious 
ignoring  of  its  habitual  expression,  or  the  inchoate  poetry  that 
may  be  found  even  hidden  in  its  slang;  with  no  moral  deter- 
mination except  that  which  may  be  the  legitimate  outcome  of 
the  story  itself;  with  no  more  elimination  than  may  be  necessary 
for  the  artistic  conception,  and  never  from  the  fear  of  the  fetich 
of  conventionalism.  Of  such  is  the  American  short  story  of  to- 
day—the germ  of  American  literature  to  come  —  BRET  HARTE, 
The  Rise  of  the  Short  Story,  Cornhill  Magazine,  July,  1809. 

He  expounds  an  important  half-truth  which  has  been  too  much 
neglected:  that  as  being  is  greater  than  seeming,  appearances 
are  often  deceitful;  under  the  most  repellent  exterior  a  soul  of 
goodness  may  exist.  But  if  we  study  him  over  much,  we  may 
become  victims  of  the  delusion  that  any  person  whose  dress  arid 
manners  are  respectable,  is,  to  say  the  least,  a  suspicious  char- 
acter, while  drunken  and  profane  ruffians  are  the  saints  of  the 
earth. —  WALTER  LEWIN,  The  Abuse  of  Fiction. 

Mr.   Kipling  is  a  great  man   at   sentiment    (though   we   hear 


258  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

more  of  his  anti-sentimental  side),  but  has  he  written  a  child- 
story  we  can  remember  as  long  as  "  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp," 
or  anything  we  shall  remember  as  long  as  "  The  Outcasts  of 
Poker  Flat,"  or  "Tennessee's  Partner"?  These  things  are  not 
so  exact  in  their  "business"  (to  borrow  a  term  from  still  an- 
other art),  but,  perhaps  on  that  very  account,  they  remain  sym- 
bols of  the  human  heart.  They  have  the  simplicity  of  classics, 
a  simplicity  in  which  all  unnecessary  subtleties  are  dissolved. — 
RICHARD  LE  GALLIENNE,  Rudyard  Kipling:  A  Criticism. 

His  own  style,  as  finally  formed,  leaves  little  to  be  desired; 
it  is  clear,  flexible,  virile,  laconic  and  withal  graceful.  Its  full 
meaning  is  given  to  every  word,  and  occasionally,  like  all  orig- 
inal masters  of  prose,  he  imparts  into  a  familiar  word  a  raciei- 
significance  than  it  had  possessed  before.  His  genius  is  no- 
where more  unmistakable  than  in  the  handling  of  his  stories, 
which  is  terse  to  the  point  of  severity,  yet  wholly  adequate; 
everything  necessary  to  the  matter  in  hand  is  told,  but  with  an 
economy  of  word  and  phrase  that  betokens  a  powerful  and  radi- 
cal conception. —  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE  and  LEONARD  LEMMON, 
American  Literature. 

Tennessee's  Partner,  John  Oakhurst,  Yuba  Bill,  Kentucky,  are 
as  long-lived,  seemingly,  as  any  characters  in  nineteenth  cen- 
tury fiction.  .  .  .  What  gives  these  characters  their  lasting  power? 
Why  does  that  highly  melodramatic  tragedy  in  the  hills  above 
Poker  Flat,  with  its  stagy  reformations,  and  contrasts  of  black 
sinner  and  white  innocent,  hold  you  spellbound  at  the  thirtieth 
as  at  the  first  reading?  WThy  does  Tennessee's  Partner  make 
you  wish  to  grasp  him  by  the  hand?  Bret  Harte  believed,  ap- 
parently, that  it  was  his  realism  which  did  it.  ...  But  we  do 
not  wait  to  be  told  by  Californians,  who  still  remember  the  red- 
shirt  period,  that  Roaring  Camp  is  not  realism.  .  .  .  Not  the 
realism,  but  the  idealization,  of  this  life  of  the  Argonauts  was 
the  prize  Bret  Harte  gained. —  HENRY  S.  CANBY,  The  Short  Story 
in  English. 


STORIES   OF   SETTING 


259 


FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON  HARTE 

Early  Recollections  of  Bret  Harte,  C.  W.  Stoddard, 
Atlantic  Monthly,  vol.  78;  Bret  Harte  in  California, 
Noah  Brooks,  Century  Magazine,  vol.  58 ;  American  Hu- 
mor and  Bret  Harte,  G.  K.  Chesterton,  Critic,  vol.  41 ; 
Life  of  Bret  Harte,  T.  E.  Pemberton  ( 1903)  ;  Bret  Harte, 
H.  W.  Boynton,  in  Contemporary  Men  of  Letters  series 
(1905)  ;  Life  of  Bret  Harte,  H.  C.  Merwin  (1911). 

THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT 

BY   BRET    HARTE 


As  Mr.  John  Oakhurst,  gambler, 
stepped  into  the  main  street  of  Pok- 
er Flat  on  the  morning  of  the 
twenty-third  of  November,  1850,  he 
was  conscious  of  a  change  in  its 
moral  atmosphere  since  the  preced- 
ing night.  Two  or  three  men,  con- 
versing earnestly  together,  ceased  as 
he  approached,  and  exchanged  sig- 
nificant glances.  There  was  a  Sab- 
bath lull  in  the  air,  which,  in  a 
settlement  unused  to  Sabbath  in- 
fluences, looked  ominous. 

2.  Mr.  Oakhurst's  calm,  handsome 
face  betrayed  small  concern  of  these 
indications.  Whether  he  was  con- 
scious of  any  predisposing  cause, 
was  another  question.  "  I  reckon 
they're  after  somebody,"  he  reflected ; 
"  likely  it's  me."  He  returned  to  his 


Central  character. 


Crisis    at    once    forecasted. 


Preliminary   setting. 


Physical  delineation  inter- 
woven with  the  progress 
of  the  story. 


Summary  of  tone  of  the 
fundamental  situation. 
FOUNDATION  CRISIS. 


200 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


pocket  the  handkerchief  with  which 
he  had  been  whipping  away  the  red 
dust  of  Poker  Flat  from  his  neat 
boots,  and  quietly  discharged  his 
mind  of  any  further  conjecture. 

3.  In  point  of  fact,  Poker  Flat  was 
"after  somebody."  It  had  lately 
suffered  the  loss  of  several  thousand 
dollars,  two  valuable  horses,  and  a 
prominent  citizen.  It  was  experi- 
encing a  spasm  of  virtuous  reaction, 
quite  as  lawless  and  ungovernable  as 
any  of  the  acts  that  had  provoked  it. 
A  secret  committee  had  determined 
to  rid  the  town  of  all  improper  per- 
sons. This  was  done  permanently  in 
regard  to  two  men  who  were  then 
hanging  from  the  boughs  of  a  syca- 
more in  the  gulch,  and  temporarily  in 
the  banishment  of  certain  other  ob- 
jectionable characters.  I  regret  to 
say  that  some  of  these  were  ladies. 
It  is  but  due  to  the  sex,  however,  to 
state  that  their  impropriety  was  pro- 
fessional, and  it  was  only  in  such 
easily  established  standards  of  evil 
that  Poker  Flat  ventured  to  sit  in 
judgment. 

4.  Mr.  Oakhurst  was  right  in  sup- 
posing that  he  was  included  in  this 
category.  A  few  of  the  committee 
had  urged  hanging  him  as  a  possible 
example,  and  a  sure  method  of 
reimbursing  themselves  from  his 
pockets  of  the  sums  he  had  won 
from  them.  "It's  agin  justice,"  said 
Jim  Wheeler,  "to  let  this  ycr  young 
man  from  Roaring  Camp  —  an  entire 
stranger  —  carry  away  our  money." 


Situation   explained. 


FOUNDATION   PLOT  INCIDENT. 


Euphemism. 


Note  the  author's  slight 
ironic  tone,  which  later 
gives  way  to  simple 
pathos. 


I  ( 


STORIES   OF   SETTING 


26l 


But  a  crude  sentiment  of  equity  re- 
siding in  the  breasts  of  those  who  had 
been  fortunate  enough  to  win  from 
Mr.  Oakhurst  overruled  this  nar- 
rower local  prejudice. 

5.  Mr.  Oakhurst  received  his  sen- 
tence with  philosophic  calmness,  none 
the  less  coolly  that  he  was  aware  of 
the  hesitation  of  his  judges.    He  was 
too  much  of  a  gambler  not  to  accept 
Fate.    With  him  life  was  at  best  an 
uncertain   game,    and   he    recognized 
the  usual  percentage  in  favor  of  the 
dealer. 

6.  A  body  of  armed  men  accom- 
panied   the    deported    wickedness    of 
Poker   Flat  to  the  outskirts  of  the 
settlement.     Besides     Mr.     Oakhurst, 
who  was  known  to  be  a  coolly  des- 
perate man,  and  for  whose  intimida- 
tion the  armed  escort  was  intended, 
the  expatriated  party  consisted  of  a 
young   woman    familiarly   known    as 
"The  Duchess";   another,  who  had 
gained  the  infelicitous  title  of  *'  Moth- 
er  Shipton";  and  "Uncle  Billy,"  a 
suspected  sluice-robber  and  confirm- 
ed drunkard.    The  cavalcade  provok- 
ed no  comments  from  the  spectators, 
nor   was   any   word   uttered   by   the 
escort.    Only,  when  the  gulch  which 
marked  the  uttermost  limit  of  Poker 
Flat   was  reached,  the  leader  spoke 
briefly  and  to  the  point.    The  exiles 
were  forbidden  to  return  at  the  peril 
of  their  lives. 

7.  As  the  escort  disappeared,  their 
pent-up  feelings  found  vent  in  a  few 
hysterical    tears    from    the    Duchess, 


Character   delineation. 


First  group   of  characters. 


First  group   of   characters. 


Climax  of  first  crisis. 

End     of     Introduction     and 
groundwork. 

THIRD  STAGE  OF  FIRST  PLOT 
INCIDENT. 

Is    "their"    well    used? 


262 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


some  bad  language  from  Mother 
Shipton,  and  a  Parthian  volley  of  ex- 
pletives from  Uncle  Billy.  The  phil- 
osophic Oakhiirst  alone  remained 
silent  He  listened  calmly  to  Mother 
Shipton's  desire  to  cut  somebody's 
heart  out,  to  the  repeated  statements 
of  the  Duchess  that  she  would  die  in 
the  road,  and  to  the  alarming  oaths 
that  seemed  to  be  bumped  out  of 
Uncle  Billy  as  he  rode  forward. 
With  the  easy  good-humor  character- 
istic of  his  class,  he  insisted  upon 
exchanging  his  own  riding-horse, 
"Five  Spot,"  for  the  sorry  mule 
which  the  Duchess  rode.  But  even 
this  act  did  not  draw  the  party  into 
any  closer  sympathy.  The  young 
woman  readjusted  her  somewhat 
draggled  plumes  with  a  feeble,  fad- 
ed coquetry ;  Mother  Shipton  eyed 
the  possessor  of  "  Five  Spot "  with 
malevolence,  and  Uncle  Billy  includ- 
ed the  whole  party  in  one  sweeping 
anathema. 

8.  The  road  to  Sandy  Bar  — a 
camp  that,  not  having  as  yet  ex- 
perienced the  regenerating  influences 
of  Poker  Flat,  consequently  seemed 
to  offer  some  invitation  to  the  emi- 
grants—  lay  over  a  steep  mountain 
range.  It  was  distant  a  day's  severe 
journey.  In  that  advanced  season, 
the  party  soon  passed  out  of  the 
moist,  temperate  regions  of  the  foot- 
hills into  the  dry,  cold,  bracing  air 
of  the  Sierras.  The  trail  was  nar- 
row and  difficult.  At  noon  the 
Duchess,  rolling  out  of  her  saddle 


Paragraph    of    character    de- 
lineation. 


Second    preliminary    setting. 


STORIES   OF    SETTING 


263 


upon  the  ground,  declared  her  inten- 
tion of  going  no  further,  and  the 
party  halted. 

9.  The    spot    was    singularly    wild 
and    impressive.    A    wooded    amphi- 
theatre,   surrounded    on    three    sides 
by  precipitous  cliffs  of  naked  granite, 
sloped    gently    toward    the    crest    of 
another  precipice  that  overlooked  the 
valley.     It     was,     undoubtedly,     the 
most  suitable  spot   for  a  camp,  had 
camping    been    advisable.     But    Mr. 
Oakhnrst    knew    that    scarcely    half 
the  journey  to   Sandy   Bar  was   ac- 
complished, and  the  party  were  not 
equipped    or    provisioned    for    delay. 
This  fact  he  pointed  out  to  hi$  com- 
panions   curtly,    with    a    philosophic 
commentary  on  the  folly  of  "  throw- 
ing up  their  hand  before  the  game 
was    played     out."     But    they    were 
furnished  with  liquor,  which  in  this 
emergency    stood    them    in    place   of 
food,   fuel,   rest,  and  prescience.    In 
spite    of    his    remonstrances,   it    was 
not  long  before  they  were  more  or 
less  under  its  influence.     Uncle  Billy 
passed  rapidly  from  a  bellicose  state 
into  one  of  stupor,  the  Duchess  be- 
came maudlin,   and   Mother   Shipton 
snored.     Mr.  Oakhurst  alone  remain- 
ed   erect,    leaning    against    a    rock, 
calmly  surveying  them. 

10.  Mr.    Oakhurst    did    not    drink. 
It  interfered  with  a  profession  which 
required  coolness,  impassiveness  and 
presence   of  mind,   and,   in   his  own 
language,    he    "  couldn't    afford    it." 
As  he  gazed  at  his  recumbent  fellow- 


FOUNDATION     FOR     MAIN     CRI- 
SIS. 

MAIN   SETTING. 


Character   contrasts. 


264 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


exiles,  the  loneliness  begotten  of  his 
pariah-trade,  his  habits  of  life,  his 
very  vices,  for  the  first  time  serious- 
ly oppressed  him.  He  bestirred  him- 
self in  dusting  his  black  clothes, 
washing  his  hands  and  face,  and 
other  acts  characteristic  of  his 
studiously  neat  habits,  and  for  a 
moment  forgot  his  annoyance.  The 
thought  of  deserting  his  weaker  and 
more  pitiable  companions  never  per- 
haps occurred  to  him.  Yet  he  could 
not  help  feeling  the  want  of  that  ex- 
citement which,  singularly  enough, 
was  most  conducive  to  that  calm 
equanimity  for  which  he  was  notori- 
ious.  He  looked  at  the  gloomy  walls 
that  rose  a  thousand  feet  sheer  above 
the  circling  pines  around  him ;  at  the 
sky,  ominously  clouded ;  at  the  valley 
below,  already  deepening  into  shad- 
ow. And,  doing  so,  suddenly  he 
heard  his  own  name  called. 

II.  A  horseman  slowly  ascended 
the  trail.  In  the  fresh,  open  face  of 
the  newcomer  Mr.  Oakhurst  recog- 
nized Tom  Simson,  otherwise  known 
as  "The  Innocent"  of  Sandy  Bar. 
He  had  met  him  some  months  before 
over  a  "little  game,"  and  had,  with 
perfect  equanimity,  won  the  entire 
fortune  —  amounting  to  some  forty 
dollars  —  of  that  guileless  youth. 
After  the  game  was  finished,  Mr. 
Oakhurst  drew  the  youthful  specu- 
lator behind  the  door  and  thus  ad- 
dressed him :  "  Tommy,  you're  a 
good  little  man,  but  you  can't  gamble 
worth  a  cent.  Don't  try  it  over 


Setting     in     harmony 
tone  of  story. 


with 


Second   group   of   characters. 

OPENING      OF     MAIN      PLOT 
SITUATION. 


STORIES   OF   SETTING 


again."  He  then  handed  him  his 
money  back,  pushed  him  gently  from 
the  room,  and  so  made  a  devoted 
slave  of  Tom  Simson. 

12.  There   was   a   remembrance   of 
this    in   his   boyish    and    enthusiastic 
greeting  of  Mr.  Oakhurst.    He  had 
started,  he  said,  to  go  to  Poker  Flat 
to  seek  his  fortune.    "Alone?"     No, 
not  exactly  alone;  in  fact  (a  giggle), 
he  had  run  away  with  Piney  Woods. 
Didn't      Mr.      Oakhurst      remember 
Piney?     She  that  used  to  wait  on  th'e 
table    at    the     Temperance    House? 
They  had  been  engaged  a  long  time, 
but   old   Jake   Woods   had   objected, 
and  so  they  ran  away,  and  were  go- 
ing to  Poker  Flat  to  be  married,  and 
here     they     were.    And    they    were 
tired  out,  and  how  lucky  it  was  they 
had  found  a  place  to  camp,  and  com- 
pany.   All  this  the  Innocent  deliver- 
ed   rapidly,    while     Piney,    a    stout, 
comely    damsel    of    fifteen,    emerged 
from  behind  the  pine-tree,  where  she 
had  been  blushing  unseen,  and  rode 
to  the  side  of  her  lover. 

13.  Mr.  Oakhurst  seldom  troubled 
himself  with  sentiment,  still  less  with 
propriety;  but  he  had  a  vague  idea 
that  the  situation  was  not  felicitous. 
He  retained,  however,  his  presence  of 
mind  sufficiently  to  kick  Uncle  Billy, 
who  was  about  to  say  something,  and 
Uncle    Billy    was    sober    enough    to 
recognize  in  Mr.   Oakhurst's  kick  a 
superior  power  that  would  not  bear 
trifling.     He  then  endeavored  to  dis- 
suade   Tom    Simson    from    delaying 


Character   Contrasts. 


First  effect  of  the  new- 
comers on  the  tone  of  the 
first  group  of  characters. 
This  furnishes  the  motif 
for  the  story. 


266  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

further,  but  in  vain.  He  even  point- 
ed out  the  fact  that  there  was  no 
provision,  nor  means  of  making  a 
camp.  But,  unluckily,  the  Innocent 
met  this  objection  by  assuring  the 
party  that  he  was  provided  with  an 
extra  mule  loaded  with  provisions, 
and  by  the  discovery  of  a  rude  at- 
tempt at  a  log-house  near  the  trail. 
"  Piney  can  stay  with  Mrs.  Oak- 
hurst,"  said  the  Innocent,  pointing 
to  the  Duchess,  "and  I  can  shift  for 
myself." 

14.  Nothing  but  Mr.  Oakhurst's  Further  effect, 
admonishing  foot  saved  Uncle  Billy 
from  bursting  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 
As  it  was,  he  felt  compelled  to  retire 
up  the  canon  until  he  could  recover 
his  gravity.  There  he  confided  the 
joke  to  the  tall  pine-trees,  with  many 
slaps  of  his  leg,  contortions  of  his 
face,  and  the  usual  profanity.  But 
when  he  returned  to  the  party,  he 
found  them  seated  by  a  fire  —  for  the 
air  had  grown  strangely  chill  and  the 
sky  overcast  — in  apparently  ami- 
cable conversation.  Piney  was  actu- 
ally talking  in  an  impulsive,  girlish 
fashion  to  the  Duchess,  who  was 
listening  with  an  interest  and  ani- 
mation she  had  not  shown  for  many 
days.  The  Innocent  was  holding 
forth,  apparently  with  equal  effect,  to 
Mr.  Oakhurst  and  Mother  Shipton, 
who  was  actually  relaxing  into 
amiability.  '  Is  this  yer  a  d — d 
picnic?"  said  Uncle  Billy,  with  in- 
ward scorn,  as  he  surveyed  the 
sylvan  group,  the  glancing  firelight, 


STORIES    OF   SETTING 


267 


and  the  tethered  animals  in  the  fore- 
ground. Suddenly  an  idea  mingled 
with  the  alcoholic  fumes  that  dis- 
turbed his  brain.  It  was  apparently 
of  a  jocular  nature,  for  he  felt  im- 
pelled to  slap  his  leg  again  and  cram 
his  fist  into  his  mouth. 

15.  As    the    shadows    crept    slowly 
up    the    mountain,    a    slight    breeze 
rocked  the  tops  of  the  pine-trees,  and 
moaned     through     their     long     and 
gloomy     aisles.    The     ruined     cabin, 
patched     and     covered     with     pine- 
boughs,  was  set  apart  for  the  ladies. 
As  the  lovers  parted,  they  unaffected- 
ly exchanged  a  parting  kiss,  so  honest 
and  sincere  that  it  might  have  been 
heard  above  the  swaying  pines.     The 
frail    Duchess    and    the    malevolent 
Mother    Shipton    were   probably   too 
stunned  to  remark  upon  his  last  evi- 
dence   of   simplicity,   and    so    turned 
without  a  word  to  the  hut.     The  fire 
was   replenished,  the  men  lay  down 
before  the  door,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes   were    asleep. 

16.  Mr.  Oakhurst  was  a  light  sleep- 
er.    Toward  morning  he  awoke  be- 
numbed and  cold.    As  he  stirred  the 
dying  fire,  the  wind,  which  was  now 
blowing     strongly,     brought     to     his 
cheek  that  which  caused  the  blood  to 
leave  it  —  snow ! 

17.  He  started  to  his  feet  with  the 
intention  of  awakening  the  sleepers, 
for  there  was  no  time  to  lose.     But 
turning    to    where    Uncle    Billy    had 
been  lying,   he   found  him   gone.     A 
suspicion   leaped   to  his  bram   and   a 


FOUNDATIOK     FOR     MAIN     CRI- 
SIS    NOT       YET      APPARENT. 


Local  color. 


Change  —  approach    of    main 
crisis. 


Forecasted  in  fl  14. 


268 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


curse  to  his  lips.  He  ran  to  the  spot 
where  the  mules  had  been  tethered; 
they  were  no  longer  there.  The 
tracks  were  already  rapidly  disap- 
pearing in  the  snow. 

18.  The  momentary  excitement 
brought  Mr.  Oakhurst  back  to  the 
fire  with  his  usual  calm.  He  did  not 
waken  the  sleepers.  The  Innocent 
slumbered  peacefully,  with  a  smile  on 
his  good-humored,  freckled  face;  the 
virgin  Piney  slept  beside  her  frailer 
sisters  as  sweetly  as  though  attended 
by  celestial  guardians,  and  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst,  drawing  his  blanket  over  his 
shoulders,  stroked  his  mustaches  and 
waited  for  the  dawn.  It  came  slow- 
ly in  a  whirling  mist  of  snow-flakes, 
that  dazzled  and  confused  the  eye. 
What  could  be  seen  of  the  landscape 
appeared  magically  changed.  He 
looked  over  the  valley,  and  summon- 
ed up  the  present  and  future  in  two 
words, — "  snowed  in !  " 

19  A  careful  inventory  of  the 
provisions,  which,  fortunately  for  the 
party,  had  been  stored  within  the 
hut,  and  so  escaped  the  felonious 
fingers  of  Uncle  Billy,  disclosed  the 
fact  that  with  care  and  prudence  they 
might  last  ten  days  longer.  "  That 
is,"  said  Mr.  Oakhurst,  sotto  voce  to 
the  Innocent,  "  if  you're  willing  to 
board  us.  If  you  ain't  —  and  perhaps 
you'd  better  not — you  can  wait  till 
Uncle  Billy  gets  back  with  provi- 
sions." For  some  occult  reason,  Mr. 
Oakhurst  could  not  bring  himself  to 
disclose  Uncle  Billy's  rascality,  and 


Tone  of  character. 


Contrast  with  crisis. 
Note      casual      physical 
scription. 


de- 


MAIN  PLOT  INCIDENT  — 
What  follows  is  its  out- 
growth. 


Crisis   acute. 

As  the  story  progresses  note 
how  the  physical  crises 
and  the  moral  crises  keep 
pace. 


STORIES   OF    SETTING 


269 


so  offered  the  hypothesis  that  he  had 
wandered  from  the  camp  and  had  ac- 
cidentally stampeded  the  animals. 
He  dropped  a  warning  to  the 
Duchess  and  Mother  Shiplon,  who  of 
course  knew  the  facts  of  their  as- 
sociate's defection.  "  They'll  find  out 
the  truth  about  us  all  when  they  find 
out  anything,"  he  added,  significantly, 
"and  there's  no  good  frightening 
them  now." 

20.  Tom  Simson  not  only  put  all 
his  worldly  store  at  the  disposal  of 
Mr.  Oakhurst,  but  seemed  to  enjoy 
the  prospect  of  their  enforced  seclu- 
sion. "  We'll  have  a  good  camp  for 
a  week,  and  then  the  snow '11  melt, 
and  we'll  all  go  back  together."  The 
cheerful  gayety  of  the  young  man, 
and  Mr.  Oakhurst's  calm  infected 
the  others.  The  Innocent,  with  the 
aid  of  pine-boughs,  extemporized  a 
thatch  for  the  roofless  cabin,  and  the 
Duchess  directed  Piney  in  the  re- 
arrangement of  the  interior  with  a 
taste  and  tact  that  opened  the  blue 
eyes  of  that  provincial  maiden  to 
their  fullest  extent.  "  I  reckon  now 
you're  used  to  fine  things  at  Poker 
Flat,"  said  Piney.  The  Duchess 
turned  away  sharply  to  conceal 
something  that  reddened  her  cheek 
through  its  professional  tint,  and 
Mother  Shipton  requested  Piney  not 
to  "chatter."  But  when  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst  returned  from  a  weary  search 
for  the  trail,  he  heard  the  sound  of 
happy  laughter  echoed  from  the 
rocks.  He  stopped  in  some  alarm, 


Lull  in  crisis. 

From  this  point  the  story 
develops  gradually  and  by 
closely  knit  incidents  in 
direct  succession,  all 
growing  out  of  the  set- 
ting, which  furnishes  the 
physical  crisis. 


Pseudo  crisis* 


270 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


and  his  thoughts  first  naturally 
reverted  to  the  whiskey,  which  he 
had  prudently  cached.  "  And  yet  it 
don't  somehow  sound  like  whiskey," 
said  the  gambler.  It  was  not  until 
he  caught  sight  of  the  blazing  fire 
through  the  still  blinding  storm  and 
the  group  around  it  that  he  settled  to 
the  conviction  that  it  was  "  square 
fun." 

21.  Whether  Mr.  Oakhurst  had 
cached  his  cards  with  the  whiskey  as 
something  debarred  the  free  access 
of  the  community,  I  cannot  say.  It 
was  certain  that,  in  Mother  Ship- 
ton's  words,  he  "  didn't  say  cards 
once  "  during  the  evening.  Haply  the 
time  was  beguiled  by  an  accordion, 
produced  somewhat  ostentatiously  by 
Tom  Simson  from  his  pack.  Not- 
withstanding some  difficulties  attend- 
ing the  manipulation  of  his  instru- 
ment, Piney  Woods  managed  to 
pluck  several  reluctant  melodies  from 
its  keys,  to  an  accompaniment  by  the 
Innocent  on  a  pair  of  bone  castanets. 
But  the  crowning  festivity  of  the 
evening  was  reached  in  a  rude  camp- 
meeting  hymn,  which  the  lovers,  join- 
ing hands,  sang  with  great  earnest- 
ness and  vociferation.  I  fear  that  a 
certain  defiant  tone  and  Covenater's 
swing  to  its  chorus,  rather  than  any 
devotional  quality,  caused  it  speedily 
to  infect  the  others,  who  at  last  join- 
ed in  the  refrain  :  — 


Resolution    of   pseudo   crisis. 


Contrast      with 
danger. 


the      actual 


Contrast      is      the      author's 


main 
story. 


reliance      in      this 


Contrast  with  character- 
habits.  A  hint  of  char- 
acter change. 


Is         *'  Covenater's 
used? 


well 


'  I'm   proud   to  live  in  the  service  of  the 

Lord. 
And  I'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army." 


STORIES    OF    SETTING 

22.  The    pines    rocked,    the    storm 
eddied  and  whirled  above  the  miser- 
able group,  and  the  flames  of  their 
altar    leaped    heavenward,    as    if    in 
token  of  the  vow. 

23.  At  midnight  the  storm  abated,      Hope, 
the    rolling    clouds    parted,    and    the 

stars  glittered  keenly  above  the  sleep- 
ing camp.  Mr.  Oakhurst,  whose  pro- 
fessional habits  had  enabled  him  to 
live  on  the  smallest  possible  amount 
of  sleep,  in  dividing  the  watch  with 
Tom  Simson,  somehow  managed  to 
take  upon  himself  the  greater  part  of 
that  duty.  He  excused  himself  to 
the  Innocent,  by  saying  that  he  had 

"often  been  a  week  without  sleep."  Character  revelation. 
"  Doing  what  ?  "  asked  Tom.  "  Pok- 
er !  "  replied  Oakhurst,  sententiously ; 
"when  a  man  gets  a  streak  of  luck, 
—  nigger-luck, —  he  don't  get  tired. 
The  luck  gives  in  first.  Luck,"  con- 
tinued the  gambler,  reflectively,  "  is 
a  mighty  queer  thing.  All  you  know 
about  it  for  certain  is  that  it's  bound 
to  change.  And  it's  finding  out  when 
it's  going  to  change  that  makes  you. 
We've  had  a  streak  of  bad  luck  since 
we  left  Poker  Flat, —  you  come  along, 
and  slap  you  get  into  it,  too.  If  you 
can  hold  your  cards  right  along, 
you're  all  right.  For,"  added  the 
gambler,  with  cheerful  irrelevance :  — 

"  '  I'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the 

Lord, 
And  I'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army.' " 

24.  The   third    day   came,    and   the 
sun,     looking     through     the     white- 


272 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


curtained  valley,  saw  the  outcasts 
divide  their  slowly  decreasing  store 
of  provisions  for  the  morning  meal. 
It  was  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  that 
mountain  climate  that  its  rays  diffus- 
ed a  kindly  warmth  over  the  wintry 
landscape,  as  if  in  regretful  com- 
miseration of  the  past.  But  it  reveal- 
ed drift  on  drift  of  snow  piled  high 
around  the  hut, —  a  hopeless,  unchart- 
ed, trackless  sea  of  white  lying  below 
the  rocky  shores  to  which  the  cast- 
aways still  clung.  Through  the 
marvellously  clear  air  the  smoke  of 
the  pastoral  village  of  Poker  Flat 
rose  miles  away.  Mother  Shipton 
saw  it,  and  from  a  remote  pinnacle 
of  her  rocky  fastness,  hurled  in  that 
direction  a  final  malediction.  It  was 
her  last  vituperative  attempt,  and 
perhaps  for  that  reason  was  invested 
with  a  certain  degree  of  sublimity. 
It  did  her  good,  she  privately  in- 
formed the  Duchess.  "Just  you  go 
out  there  and  cuss,  and  see."  She 
then  set  herself  to  the  task  of  amus- 
ing "the  child,"  as  she  and  the 
Duchess  were  pleased  to  call  Piney. 
Piney  was  no  chicken,  but  it  was  a 
soothing  and  ingenious  theory  of  the 
pair  thus  to  account  for  the  fact  that 
she  didn't  swear  and  wasn't  im- 
proper. 

25.  When  night  crept  up  again 
through  the  gorges,  the  reedy  notes 
of  the  accordion  rose  and  fell  in  fit- 
ful spasms  and  long-drawn  gasps  by 
the  flickering  camp-fire.  But  music 
failed  to  fill  entirely  the  aching  void 


Note  the  union  of  setting 
with  the  progress  of  the 
story. 


Contrast. 


KEY  TO   SETTING. 


Character 
passage. 


change  —  a     key 


Contributory  incident. 


STORIES   OF   SETTING 


273 


left  by  insufficient  food,  and  a  new 
diversion  was  proposed  by  Piney, — 
story-telling.  Neither  Mr.  Oakhurst 
nor  his  female  companions  caring  to 
relate  their  personal  experiences,  this 
plan  would  have  failed,  too,  but  for 
the  Innocent.  Some  months  before 
he  had  chanced  upon  a  stray  copy  of 
Mr.  Pope's  ingenious  translation  of 
the  Iliad.  He  now  proposed  to  nar- 
rate the  principal  incidents  of  that 
ooem  —  having  thoroughly  mastered 
the  argument  and  fairly  forgotten  the 
words  —  in  the  current  vernacular  of 
Sandy  Bar.  And  so  for  the  rest  of 
that  night  the  Homeric  demigods 
again  walked  the  earth.  Trojan 
bully  and  wily  Greek  wrestled  in  the 
winds,  and  the  great  pines  in  the 
canon  seemed  to  bow  to  the  wrath 
of  the  son  of  Peleus.  Mr.  Oakhurst 
listened  with  quiet  satisfaction. 
Most  especially  was  he  interested  in 
the  fate  of  "  Ash-heels,"  as  the  Inno- 
cent persisted  'in  denominating  the 
"  swift-footed  Achilles." 

26.  So  with  small  food  and  much 
of  Homer  and  the  accordion,  a  week 
passed  over  the  heads  of  the  outcasts. 
The  sun  again  forsook  them,  and 
again  from  leaden  skies  the  snow- 
flakes  were  sifted  over  the  land.  Day 
by  day  closer  around  them  drew  the 
snowy  circle,  until  at  last  they  look- 
ed from  their  prison  over  drifted 
walls  of  dazzling  white,  that  tow- 
ered twenty  feet  above  their  heads. 
It  became  more  and  more  difficult  to 
replenish  their  fires,  even  from  the 


Developing     or     contributory 
incident. 


Note  upward  and  downward 
movement  —  alternations 
of  hope  and  despair,  but  a 
gradual  deepening  of  the 
crisis. 

Note  the  contrast  between 
the  epithet  "  outcasts " 
and  the  feeling  with 
which  they  are  now  in- 
vested. 


274 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


Hint  of  later  character  rev- 
elation. 


fallen  trees  beside  them,  now  half 
hidden  in  the  drifts.  And  yet  no  one  Character  progress, 
complained.  The  lovers  turned  from 
the  dreary  prospect  and  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes,  and  were  happy. 
Mr.  Oakhurst  settled  himself  coolly 
to  the  losing  game  before  him.  The 
Duchess,  more  cheerful  than  she  had 
been,  assumed  the  care  of  Piney. 
Only  Mother  Shipton  —  once  the 
strongest  of  the  party  —  seemed  to 
sicken  and  fade.  At  midnight  on  the 
tenth  day  she  called  Oakhurst  to  her 
side.  "  I'm  going,"  she  said,  in  a 
voice  of  querulous  weakness,  "  but 
don't  say  anything  about  it.  Don't 
waken  the  kids.  Take  the  bundle 
from  under  my  head  and  open  it." 
Mr.  Oakhurst  did  so.  It  contained 
Mother  Shipton's  rations  for  the  last 
week,  untouched.  "  Give  'em  to  the 
child,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  sleep- 
ing Piney.  "  You've  starved  your- 
self," said  the  gambler.  "  That's 
what  they  call  it,"  said  the  woman, 
querulously,  as  she  lay  down  again, 
and,  turning  her  face  to  the  wall, 
passed  quietly  away. 

27.  The  accordion  and  the  bones 
were  put  aside  that  day,  and  Homer 
was  forgotten.  When  the  body  of 
Mother  Shipton  had  been  committed 
to  the  snow,  Mr.  Oakhurst  took  the 
Innocent  aside,  and  showed  him  a 
pair  of  snow-shoes,  which  he  had 
fashioned  from  the  old  pack-saddle. 
"  There's  one  chance  in  a  hundred  to  PLOT  INCIDENT. 
save  her  yet,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
Piney;  "but  it's  there,"  he  added, 


FIRST  CHARACTER   CLIMAX. 


STORIES   OF   SETTING 


275 


pointing  toward  Poker  Flat.  "  If  you 
can  reach  there  in  two  days  she's 
safe."  "And  you?"  asked  Tom 
Simson.  "  I'll  stay  here,"  was  the 
curt  reply. 

28.  The  lovers  parted  with  a  long 
embrace.    "  You  are  not  going,  too  ?  " 
said   the   Duchess,   as   she   saw    Mr. 
Oakhurst   apparently   waiting   to    ac- 
company him.     "  As  far  as  the  can- 
on," he  replied.    He  turned  suddenly, 
and  kissed  the  Duchess,  leaving  her 
pallid  face  aflame,  and  her  trembling 
limbs  rigid  with  amazement. 

29.  Night  came,  but  not  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst.     It   brought   the   storm    again 
and    the    whirling    snow.     Then    the 
Duchess,  feeding  the  fire,  found  that 
some    one    had    quietly    piled    beside 
the  hut  enough  fuel  to  last  a  few  days 
longer.    The  tears  rose  to  her  eyes, 
but  she  hid  them  from  Piney. 

30.  The  women  slept  but  little.     In 
the  morning,  looking  into  each  other's 
faces,  they  read  their  fate.     Neither 
spoke ;  but  Piney,  accepting  the  posi- 
tion of  the  stronger,  drew  near  and 
placed   her    arm    around    the    Duch- 
ess's waist.     They  kept  this  attitude 
for  the  rest  of  the  day.    That  night 
the  storm  reached  its  greatest   fury, 
and,  rending  asunder  the  protecting 
pines,  invaded  the  very  hut 

31.  Toward    morning    they    found 
themselves    unable   to    feed   the   fire, 
which  gradually  died  away.    As  the 
embers  slowly  blackened,  the  Duch- 
ess crept  closer  to  Piney,  and  broke 
the  silence  of  many  hours :  "  Piney, 


Preparation  for  climax. 


Characters  in   full   change. 


Note  the  repression  of 
this  entire  climax.  Sim- 
ple, quiet  sentences  are 
enough. 


276 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


can  you  pray?"  "No,  dear,"  said 
Piney,  simply.  The  Duchess,  with- 
out knowing  exactly  why,  felt  re- 
lieved, and  putting  her  head  upon 
Piney's  shoulder,  spoke  no  more. 
And  so  reclining,  the  younger  and 
purer  pillowing  the  head  of  her  soil- 
ed sister  upon  her  virgin  breast,  they 
fell  asleep. 

32.  The  wind  lulled  as  if  it  feared 
to   waken  them.     Feathery   drifts   of 
snow,    shaken    from    the    long    pine- 
boughs,  flew  like  white-winged  birds, 
and  settled  about  them  as  they  slept. 
The  moon  through  the  rifted  clouds 
looked    down    upon    what    had    been 
the  camp.    But  all  human  stain,  all 
trace  of  earthly  travail,  was  hidden 
beneath    the    spotless    mantle    merci- 
fully flung  from  above. 

33.  They  slept  all  that  day  and  the 
next,  nor  did  they  waken  when  voices 
and    footsteps   broke   the    silence    of 
the  camp.    And  when  pitying  fingers 
brushed    the    snow    from    their    wan 
faces,   you  could   scarcely  have  told 
from  the  equal  peace  that  dwelt  upon 
them,  which  was  she  that  had  sinned. 
Even  the  law  of  Poker  Flat  recog- 
nized this,  and  turned  away,  leaving 
them    still    locked    in    each    other's 
arms. 

34.  But  at  the  head  of  the  gulch, 
on  one  of  the  largest  pine-trees,  they 
found  the  deuce  of  clubs  pinned  to 
the  bark  with  a  bowie-knife.     It  bore 
the    following,   written   in   pencil,    in 
a  firm  hand: — 


No    melodrama    here. 


SECOND    CHARACTER    CLIMAX. 


Local  color  in  harmony  with 
spirit  of  story. 


Symbolism     of    physical    na- 
ture. 

Poetic   euphemism. 


MAIN      CHARACTER     CLIMAX, 
AND   DENOUEMENT. 


STORIES   OF   SETTING  277 

BENEATH    THIS    TREE 

LIES    THE   BODY 

OF 

JOHN  OAKHURST, 

WHO    STRUCK    A    STREAK    OF    BAD    LUCK 
ON   THE   23D  OF   NOVEMBER,    1850, 

AND 

HANDED    IN    HIS    CHECKS 
ON    THE   7TH    DECEMBER,    1850. 

And  pulseless  and  cold,  with  a  der-  SWIFT  CONCLUSION. 
ringer  by  his  side  and  a  bullet  in  his 
heart,  though  still  calm  as  in  life,  be- 
neath the  snow  lay  he  who  was  at 
once  the  strongest  and  yet  the  weak- 
est of  the  outcasts  of  Poker  Flat. 

MAUPASSANT  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant  was  born  in 
Normandy,  France,  in  1850.  In  that  picturesque  region 
he  passed  his  youth,  and  returned  thither  for  frequent 
sojourns  in  later  life.  Having  finished  his  studies,  he 
became  an  employe  in  the  government  service  in  Paris. 
This  experience,  his  love  for  athletics,  and  his  recollec- 
tions of  the  Franco-Prussian  war,  he  turned  to  good 
account  in  his  fictional  workN  His  literary  education  was 
conducted  by  Gustave  Flaubert,  his  uncle  and  god-father, 
under  whom  he  served  so  rigid  an  apprenticeship  trftt 
when  he  produced  his  first  short-story,  "  Tallow  Ball  " 
(Boule  de  Suif),  his  preceptor  pronouncec^ka  master- 
piece, as  indeed  it  is.  He  died  in  1893,  ^fhe.  age  of 
43,  by  his  own  hand,  his  reason  having  failed  after  some 
years  of  increasing  depression  and  gloom. 


278  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

Though  his  productive  period  covered  only  ten  years, 
Guy  de  Maupassant  has  left  several  notable  novels,  some 
fair  poetry,  and  a  large  number  of  remarkable  short- 
stories.  Most  of  his  work  deals  more  frankly  with  the 
sordid  side  of  life  than  American  society  approves,  but 
many  of  his  short-stories  are  unexceptionable.  Among 
the  best  of  these  are  "The  Necklace/'  "The  Horla," 
"  Happiness,"  "  Vain  Beauty,"  "  A  Coward,"  "  A  Ghost," 
"  Little  Soldier,"  "  The  Wolf,"  "  Moonlight,"  and  "  The 
Piece  of  String." 

Technically,  Maupassant  was  the  most  finished  short- 
story  writer  of  all ;  but  he  lacked  spiritual  power,  and  so 
he  himself  missed  much  of  the  world's  beauty,  and  dis- 
closed but  little  to  others.  Rarely  can  the  reader  feel  the 
least  throb  of  sympathy  of  the  author  for  his  characters^ 
Technically  flawless,  his  'work  is  too  often  cold,  and  the 
warm  ideals  of  a  tender  heart  are  chiefly  absent.  An 
inflexible  realist,  he  pressed  his  method  farther  than  did 
Flaubert,  a  really  strong  novelist. -f  From  life's  raw  ma- 
terials Maupassant  wove  incomparably  brilliant  fiction- 
fabrics,  equally  distinguished  for  plot,  characterization, 
and  stylev;  but  it  cannot  be  said  that  he  interpreted  life 
with  a  wholesome,  uplifting  spirit: 

Happy  are  they  whom  life  satisfies,  who  can  amuse  themselves, 
and  be  content  .  .  .  who  have  not  discovered,  with  a  vast  dis- 
gust, .  .  .  that  all  things  are  a  weariness. —  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT. 

He  who  destroys  the  ideal  destroys  himself.  In  art  and  in 
life  Maupassant  lived  in  the  lower  order  of  facts,  the  brutal 
world  of  events  unrelated  to  a  spiritual  order.  He  drained  his 
senses  of  the  last  power  of  sensation  and  reaction;  he  plunged 


STORIES   OF   SETTING  279 

headlong  into  the  sensual  life  upon  \\hich  they  opened  when 
the  luminous  heaven  above  the  material  world  was  obliterated. 
Madness  always  lies  that  way  as  a  matter  of  physiology  as  well 
as  of  morals,  and  Maupassant  went  the  tragic  way  of  the  sensual- 
ist since  time  began. —  HAMILTON  W.  MABIE,  in  The  Outlook. 

•4» 

Maupassant  saw  life  with  his  senses,  and  he  reflected  on  it  in 

a  purely  animal  revolt,  the  recoil  of  the  hurt  animal.  'His  obser- 
vation is  not,  as  it  has  been  hastily  assumed  to  be,  cold;  it  is 
as  superficially  emotional  as  that  of  the  average  sensual  man, 
and  its  cynicism  is  only  another,  not  less  superficial,  kind  of  feel- 
ing. He  saw  life  in  all  its  details,  and  his  soul  was  entangled 
in  the  details.  He  saw  it  without  order,  without  recompense, 
without  pity;  he  saw  it  too  clearly  to  be  duped  by  appearances, 
and  too  narrowly  to  distinguish  any  light  beyond  what  seemed 
to  him  the  enclosing  bounds  of  darkness. —  ARTHUR  SYMONS, 
Studies  in  Prose  and  Verse. 

He  has  produced  a  hundred  short  tales  and  only  four  regular 
novels ;  but  if  the  tales  deserve  the  first  place  in  any  candid 
appreciation  of  his  talent  it  is  not  simply  because  they  are  so 
much  the  more  numerous :  they  are  also  more  characteristic ; 
they  represent  him  best  in  his  originality,  and  their  brevity,  ex- 
treme in  some  cases,  does  not  prevent  them  from  being  a  col- 
lection of  masterpieces.  .  .  .  What  they  have  most  in  common 
is  their  being  extremely  strong,  and  after  that  their  being  ex- 
tremely brutal.  .  .  .  M.  de  Maupassant  sees  human  life  as  a 
terribly  ugly  business  relieved  by  the  comical,  but  even  the 
comedy  is  for  the  most  part  the  comedy  of  misery,  of  avidity, 
of  ignorance,  helplessness,  and  grossness. —  HENRY  JAMES,  Par- 
tial Portraits. 

His  short-stories  are  masterpieces  of  the  art  of  story-telling, 
because  he  had  a  Greek  sense  of  form,  a  Latin  power  of  con- 
struction, and  a  French  felicity  of  style.  They  are  simple,  most 
of  them;  direct,  swift,  inevitable,  and  inexorable  in  their  straight- 
forward movement.  If  art  consists  in  the  suppression  of  non- 
essentials,  there  have  been  few  greater  artists  in  fiction  than 


280  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

Maupassant.  In  his  Short-stories  there  is  never  a  word  wasted, 
and  there  is  never  an  excursus.  Nor  is  there  any  feebleness  or 
fumbling.  What  he  wanted  to  do  he  did,  with  the  unerring 
certainty  of  Leatherstocking,  hitting  the  bull's-eye  again  and 
again.  He  had  the  abundance  and  the  ease  of  the  very  great 
artists;  and  the  half-dozen  or  the  half-score  of  his  best  stories 
are  among  the  very  best  Short-stories  in  any  language. — 
BRANDER  MATTHEWS,  The  Philosophy  of  the  Short-Story. 

His  firm,  alert  prose  is  so  profoundly  French,  free  from  neolo- 
gisms, strong  in  verbs,  sober  in  adjectives,  every  sentence  stand- 
ing out  with  no  apparent  effort,  no  excess,  like  a  muscle  in  the 
perfect  body  of  a  young  athlete.  ...  He  has  that  sense  of  the 
real  which  so  many  naturalists  lack,  and  which  the  care  for 
exact  detail  does  not  replace.  .  .  .  His  predilection  for  ordinary 
scenes  and  ordinary  types  is  everywhere  evident;  he  uses  all 
kinds  of  settings, —  a  cafe,  a  furnished  room,  a  farmyard,  seen 
in  their  actual  character  without  poetic  transfiguration,  with  all 
their  vulgarity,  their  poverty,  their  ugliness.  And  he  uses,  too, 
all  kinds  of  characters, —  clerks,  peasants  of  Normandy,  petty 
bourgeois  of  Paris  and  of  the  country.  They  live  the  empty, 
tragic,  or  grotesque  hours  of  their  lives;  are  sometimes  touching, 
sometimes  odious;  and  never  achieve  greatness  either  in  hero- 
ism or  in  wickedness. 

They  are  not  gay,  these  stories;  and  the  kind  of  amusement 
they  afford  is  strongly  mixed  with  irony,  pity,  and  contempt. 
Gayety,  whether  brutal,  frank,  mocking,  or  delicate,  never  leaves 
this  bitter  taste  in  the  heart.  How  pitiful  in  its  folly,  in  its 
vanity,  in  its  weakness,  is  the  humanity  which  loves,  weeps,  or 
agitates  in  the  tales  of  Maupassant !  There,  virtue  if  awkward 
is  never  recompensed,  nor  vice  if  skillful  punished ;  mothers  are 
not  always  saints,  nor  sons  always  grateful  and  respectful;  the 
guilty  are  often  ignorant  of  remorse.  Then  are  these  beings 
immoral?  To  tell  the  truth,  they  are  guided  by  their  instincts, 
by  events,  submissive  to  the  laws  of  necessity,  and  apparently 
released  by  the  author  from  all  responsibility. —  FIRMIN  Roz, 
Guy  dc  Maupassant,  in  WARNER'S  Library  of  the  World's  Best 
Literature. 


STORIES   OF   SETTING  28 1 


FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON 
MAUPASSANT 

French  Fiction  of  To-day,  M.  S.  Van  de  Velde  (1891) ; 
Some  French  Writers,  Edward  Delille  (1893);  Studies 
in  Two  Literatures,  Arthur  Symons  (1897);  French 
Literature  of  To-day,  Yetta  Blaze  de  Bury  (1898)  ;  A 
Century  of  French  Fiction,  Benjamin  W.  Wells  (1898)  ; 
Contemporary  French  Novelists,  Rene  Doumic  (1899). 

FOR  ANALYSIS 

MOONLIGHT 

(CLAIR  DE  LUNE) 

BY  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Translation  by  The  Editor 1 

The  Abbe  Marignan  bore  well  his 
title  of  Soldier  of  the  Church.  He 
was  a  tall  priest,  and  spare ;  fanatical, 
perpetually  in  a  state  of  spiritual  ex- 
altation, but  upright  of  soul.  His 
every  belief  was  settled,  without  even 
a  thought  of  wavering.  He  im- 
agined sincerely  that  he  understood 
his  God  thoroughly,  that  he  pene- 
trated His  designs,  His  will,  His 
purposes. 

2.  As  with  long  strides  he  prom- 
enaded the  garden  walk  of  his  little 
country  presbytery,  sometimes  a  ques- 
tion would  arise  in  his  mind :  "  Why 
did  God  create  that  ? "  And.  men- 
tally taking  the  place  of  God,  he 

1  Copyright,  1911,  by  J.   B.  Lippincott  Co.,  and  used  by  permission. 


282  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

searched  obstinately  for  the  answer 
—  and  nearly  always  found  it.  It 
would  not  have  been  like  him  to  mur- 
mur, in  an  outburst  of  pious  humility: 
"  O  Lord,  thy  designs  are  impenetra- 
ble !  "  Rather  might  he  say  to  him- 
self :  "  I  am  the  servant  of  God ;  I 
ought  to  know  the  reasons  for  what 
He  does,  or,  if  I  know  them  not,  I 
ought  to  divine  them." 

3.  To  him  all  nature  seemed  created 
with  a  logic  as  absolute  as  it  was  ad- 
mirable.   The  "wherefore"  and  the 
"  because  "  always  corresponded  per- 
fectly.   Dawn  was  made  to  gladden 
our    waking,    the    day   to    ripen    the 
crops,   the   rain   to   water  them,  the 
evening  to  prepare  for  slumber,  and 
the  night  was  darkened  for  sleep. 

4.  The  four  seasons  met  perfectly 
all  the  needs  of  agriculture;  and  to 
the  priest  it  was  quite  inconceivable 
that  nature  had  no  designs,  and  that, 
on  the  contrary,  all  living  things  were 
subjects  of  the  same  inexorable  laws 
of  period,  climate,  and  matter. 

5.  But   he    did    hate    woman!     He 
hated  her  unconscionably,  and  by  in- 
stinct held  her  in   contempt.     Often 
did  he  repeat  the  words  of  Christ, 
"Woman,  what  have   I   to   do  with 
thee?"    And    he   would   add,   "One 
might  think   that   God    Himself   did 
not  feel  quite  content  with  this  one 
work   of  his   hands ! "    To  him,   in- 
deed,  woman  was   the   child   twelve 
times    unclean    of    whom    the    poet 
speaks.     She  was  the  temptress  who 
had  ensnared  the  first  man,  and  who 


STORIES   OF   SETTING 

constantly  kept  up  her  work  of  dam- 
nation —  she  was  a  feeble,  dangerous, 
and  mysteriously  troublous  creature. 
And  even  more  than  her  accursed 
body  did  he  hate  her  loving  spirit. 

6.  He  had  often   felt  that  women 
were    regarding    him    tenderly,    and 
even  though  he  knew  himself  to  be 
invulnerable,    it   exasperated   him   to 
recognize  that  need  for  loving  which 
fluttered  ever-present  in  their  hearts. 

7.  In  his  opinion,  God  had  created 
woman  only  to  tempt  man  and  to  test 
him.     She  should  never  be  even  ap- 
proached    without     those     defensive 
measures  which  one  would  take,  and 
those  fears  which  one  would  harbor, 
when   nearing  a   trap.    In   fact,    she 
was  precisely  like   a  trap,   with   her 
lips  open  and  arms  extended  towards 
man. 

8.  Only  toward  nuns  did  he  exercise 
any  indulgence,   for  they  were   ren- 
dered   harmless   by   their   vow.     But 
he  treated  them  harshly  just  the  same, 
because,  ever-living  in  the  depths  of 
their  pent-up  and  humble  hearts,  he 
discerned  that  everlasting  tenderness 
which   constantly   surged   up  toward 
him,  priest  though  he  was. 

9.  Of  all  this  he  was  conscious  in 
their  upturned  glances,  more  limpid 
with  pious  feeling  than  the  looks  of 
monks;  in  the  spiritual  exaltations  in 
which   their    sex    indulged;    in   their 
ecstasies     of     love     toward     Christ, 
which  made  the  priest  indignant  be- 
cause   it    was    really    woman's    love, 
carnal  love.     Of  this  detestable  ten- 


284  STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 

derness  he  was  conscious,  too,  in 
their  very  docility,  in  the  gentleness 
of  their  voices  when  they  addressed 
him,  in  their  downcast  eyes,  and  in 
their  submissive  tears  when  he  rudely 
rebuked  them. 

10.  So  he  would  shake  his  cassock 
when  he  left  the  convent  door,  and 
stride  off,  stretching  his  legs  as  if 
fleeing  before  some  danger. 

u.  Now  the  abbe  had  a  niece  who 
lived  with  her  mother  in  a  little 
house  near  by.  He  was  determined 
to  make  of  her  a  sister  of  charity. 

12.  She   was   pretty,   giddy,   and   a 
born  tease.    When  he  preached  at  her, 
she  laughed ;   and   when   he   became 
angry  with  her,  she  kissed  him  ve- 
hemently, pressing  him  to  her  bosom, 
while  he  would  instinctively  seek  to 
disengage  himself  from  this  embrace 
—  which,   all  the  same,  gave  him   a 
thrill  of  exquisite  joy,  awaking  deep 
within  his  soul  that  feeling  of  father- 
hood which  slumbers  in  every  man. 

13.  Often  as  they  walked  together 
along    the     foot-paths    through    the 
fields,    he    would    talk    with    her    of 
God,   of  his   God;   but  she   scarcely 
heard   him,   for   she  was  looking   at 
the  sky,  the  grass,  the  flowers,  with 
a  joy  of  life  which  beamed  from  her 
eyes.    Sometimes     she     would     dart 
away  to  catch  some  flying  creature, 
crying  as  she  brought  it  back :    "  See, 
my  uncle,  how  pretty  it  is;  I  should 
like  to  kiss  it."    And  that  passion  to 
kiss    insects,    or    lilac    flowers,    dis- 
turbed,   irritated,    and    repelled    the 


STORIES   OF   SETTING  285 


priest,  who  recognized  even  in  that 
longing  the  ineradicable  love  which 
blooms  perennial  in  the  heart  of 
woman.  ^ 

14.  And  now  one  day  the  sacristan's 
wife,  who  was  the  Abbe  Marignan's 
housekeeper,  cautiously'  told  him  that 
his  niece  had  a  lover ! 

15.  He  was  dreadfully  shocked,  and 
stood  gasping   for  breath,   lather  all 
over  his  face,  for  he  was  shaving. 

16.  When  at  length  he  was  able  to 
think  and  speak,  he  cried :     "  It  is  not 
true.     You  are  lying,  Melanie !  " 

17.  But  the  peasant  woman  laid  her 
hand    over    her    heart :     "  May    our 
Lord  judge  me  if  I  am  lying,  mon- 
sieur le  cure.     I  tell  you  she  goes  out 
to  meet  him  every  night  as  soon  as 
your  sister  is  in  bed.     They  meet  each 
other  down  by  the  river.     You  need 
only  go  there  between  ten  o'clock  and 
midnight  to  see  for  yourself." 

18.  He    stopped    rubbing    his    chin 
and  began  pacing  the  room  violently, 
as  was  his  custom  in  times  of  serious 
thought.     When  at  length  he  did  try 
to  finish  his  shaving  he  cut  himself 
three  times,  from  nose  to  ear. 

19.  All    day    long    he    was    silent, 
though  almost  exploding  with  indig- 
nation   and    wrath.    To    his    priestly 
rage  against  the  power  of  love  was 
now  added  the  indignation  of  a  spirit- 
ual father,  of  a  teacher,  of  the  guard- 
ian of  souls,  who  has  been  deceived, 
robbed,  and  trifled  with  by  a  mere 
child.    He    felt   that   egotistical    suf- 
focation    which     parents     experience 


286  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

when  their  daughter  tells  them  that 
she  has  selected  a  husband  without 
their  advice  and  in  defiance  of  their 
wishes. 

20.  After  dinner  he  tried  to  read  a 
little,    but   he    could    not  —  he    grew 
more  and  more  exasperated.     When 
the  clock  struck  ten,  he  grasped  his 
cane,  a  formidable  oaken  club  which 
he  always  carried  when  he  went  out 
at  night   to   visit   the   sick.    With   a 
smile  he  examined  this  huge  cudgel, 
gripped  it  in  his  solid,  countryman's 
fist,  and  flourished  it  menacingly  in 
the  air.    Then,  suddenly,  with  grind- 
ing teeth,  he  brought  it  down  upon 
a  chair-back,  which  fell  splintered  to 
the  floor. 

21.  He. opened  his  door  to  go  out; 
but  paused  upon  the  threshold,  sur- 
prised by  such  a  glory  of  moonlight 
as  one  rarely  sees. 

22.  And  as  he  was  endowed  with 
an  exalted  soul  of  such  a  sort  as  the 
Fathers  of  the  Church,  those  poetic 
seers,  must  have  possessed,  he  became 
suddenly    entranced,    moved    by    the 
grand  and  tranquil  beauty  of  the  pale- 
faced  night. 

23.  In  his  little  garden,  all  suffused 
with  the  tender  radiance,  his   fruit- 
trees,  set  in  rows,  outlined  in  shadows 
upon  the  paths  their  slender  limbs  of 
wood,    scarce   clothed   with   verdure. 
The  giant  honeysuckle,  clinging  to  the 
house    wall,     exhaled     its     delicious, 
honeyed  breath  —  the  soul  of  perfume 
seemed  to  hover  about  in  the  warm, 
clear  night. 


STORIES   OF   SETTING  287 


24.  He     began     to    breathe     deep, 
drinking  in  the  air  as  drunkards  drink 
their   wine;    and   he   walked    slowly, 
ravished,   amazed,    his    niece    almost 
forgotten. 

25.  When    he     reached    the     open 
country  he  paused  to  gaze  upon  the 
broad   sweep    of    landscape,    all    del- 
uged by  that  caressing  radiance,  all 
drowned   in   that   soft   and   sensuous 
charm  of  peaceful  night.    Momently 
the    frogs    sounded    out    their    quick 
metallic   notes,   and    distant   nightin- 
gales added  to  the  seductive  moon- 
light    their     welling     music,     which 
charms   to    dreams    without    thought 
—  that     gossamer,     vibrant     melody 
born  only  to  mate  with  kisses. 

26.  The    Abbe    moved    again,    his 
courage    unaccountably    failing.     He 
felt    as    though    he    were    enfeebled, 
suddenly    exhausted  —  he    longed    to 
sit  down,  to  linger  there,  to  glorify 
God  for  all  His  works. 

27.  A    little    farther   on,    following 
the  winding  of  the  little  river,  curved 
a    row    of    tall    poplars.     Suspended 
about  and  above  the  banks,  enwrap- 
ping the  whole  sinuous  course  of  the 
stream  with  a  sort  of  light,  transpar- 
ent   down,    was    a    fine    white    mist, 
shot  through  by  the  moon-rays,  and 
transmuted    by    them    into    gleaming 
silver. 

28.  The  priest  paused  once  again, 
stirred  to  the  deeps  of  his  soul  by  a 
growing,    an    irresistible    feeling    of 
tenderness. 

29.  And  a  doubt,  an  undefined  dis- 


288  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

quietude,  crept  over  him ;  he  dis- 
cerned the  birth  of  one  of  those  ques- 
tions which  now  and  again  came  to 
him. 

30.  Why  had   God  made  all  this? 
Since    the    night    was    ordained    for 
slumber,  for  unconsciousness,  for  re- 
pose, for  forgetfulness  of  everything, 
why  should  He  make  it  lovelier  than 
the  day,  sweeter  than  dawn  and  sun- 
set?   And    that    star,    slow-moving, 
seductive,  more  poetic  than  the  sun, 
so   like   to   destiny,   and   so    delicate 
that  seemingly  it  was  created  to  ir- 
radiate   things    too    subtle,    too    re- 
fined, for  the  greater  orb  —  why  was 
it  come  to  illumine  all  the  shades? 

31.  Why  did  not  the  most  accom- 
plished   of   all    singing  birds    repose 
now  like  the  others,  but  sing  in  the 
unquiet   dark? 

32.  Why    was    this    semi-veil    cast 
over  the   world?     Why  this   sighing 
of  the  heart,  this  tumult  of  the  soul, 
this  languor  of  the  flesh? 

33.  Why     this     show     of     charms, 
never  seen  by  men  because  they  are 
asleep?     For  whose  eyes  was  all  this 
sublime    spectacle    designed,    all    this 
wealth   of  poetic   loveliness    diffused 
from  heaven  over  the  earth? 

34.  And  the  Abbe  did  not  under- 
stand it  at  all. 

35.  But  there  below,   at   the   very 
edge  of  the  field,  under  the  arching 
trees    wet   with   luminous   mist,    two 
shadows   appeared,   walking   side   by 
side. 

36.  The   man  was   the   taller,   and 


STORIES   OF   SETTING  289 


had  his  arm  about  his  sweetheart's 
neck ;  and  from  time  to  time  he  bent 
to  kiss  her  forehead.  They  ani- 
mated suddenly  the  lifeless  landscape, 
which  enveloped  their  figures  like  a 
divine  frame  fashioned  expressly  for 
them.  They  seemed,  those  two,  like 
a  single  being,  the  being  for  whom 
was  created  this  tranquil,  silent 
night.  Like  a  living  answer,  the  an- 
swer which  his  Master  had  sent  to 
his  question,  they  moved  toward  the 
priest. 

37.  Overwhelmed,  his  heart  throb- 
bing,  he   stood   still,   and   it   seemed 
as   though   there   spread   before   him 
some    Biblical    scene,   like   the   loves 
of  Ruth  and  Boaz,  the  working  out 
of  the   Lord's   will  in  one   of  those 
majestic    dramas    set    forth    in    the 
lives   of   the    saints.    The   verses   of 
the  Song  of  Songs,  the  ardent  cries, 
the  call  of  the  body  —  all  the  glow- 
ing romance  of  that  poem  so  aflame 
with  tenderness   and   love,  began  to 
sing  itself  into  his  mind. 

38.  And     he     said     to     himself: 
"  Perhaps  God  made  nights  such  as 
this  in  order  to  cast  the  veil  of  the 
ideal  over  the  loves  of  men." 

39.  He  withdrew  before  this  pair, 
who    went    on    arm    in    arm.    True, 
it  was  his  niece;  but  now  he  asked 
himself  if  he  had  not  been  upon  the 
verge  of  disobeying  God.    And,  in- 
deed, if  God  did  not  permit  love,  why 
did  he  visibly  encompass  it  with  glory 
such  as  this? 


29O  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

40.  And  he  fled,  bewildered,  al- 
most ashamed,  as  if  he  had  pene- 
trated in  a  temple  wherein  he  had 
no  right  to  enter. 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 

1.  Precisely  why  do  our  surroundings  affect  our  moods  and 
actions?    Give  examples  from  your  own  experience. 

2.  Which  seems  to  you  to  be  the  more  frequent  in  fiction :  har- 
mony, or  contrast  of  character  with  setting? 

3.  Which  seems  to  you  to  be  the  more  effective?     Why? 

4.  Outline  the   motives  which   actuated   at  least  three  of  the 
characters  in  "  The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat." 

5.  Is  the  story  overdrawn? 

6.  Is  the  influence  of  the  moonlight  enough  to  account  for 
the  change  in  the  priest  in  "  Moonlight,"  or  must  we  allow  some- 
thing for  romance? 

7.  Trace  the  several  physical  crises  of  Harte's  story  from  the 
very  beginning. 

8.  Do  the  same  for  the  moral  crises. 

9.  Show  their  inter-relation. 

10.  Select  from  a  magazine  a  story  in  which  setting  influences 
in  some  way  the  actions  of  the  characters,  and  point  out  pre- 
cisely how. 


TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  STORIES  OF  SETTING 

"  A  Leaf  in  the  Storm,"  Ouida,  in  Stories  by  English 
Authors. 

"  Mrs.  Knollys,"  F.  J.  Stimson,  Century  Magazine,  Nov., 
1883. 

"Up  the  Coulee,"  Hamlin  Garland,  in  Main  Travelled 
Roads. 

"  The  Girl  at  Duke's,"  James  W.  Linn,  McClure's  Maga- 
zine, Aug.,  1903. 


STORIES   OF   SETTING  2QI 

"  The  Dancin'  Party  at  Harrison's  Cove,"  Charles  Eg- 
bert Craddock,  Atlantic  Monthly,  May,  1878. 

'  Twenty-Six  and  One,"  Maxim  Gorky,  translated  in  vol- 
ume of  same  title. 

"  The  Unknown  Masterpiece,"  Honore  de  Balzac,  trans- 
lated in  Little  French  Masterpieces,  Balzac. 

"Red  Bird,"  Elizabeth  Maury  Coombs,  Lippincott's 
Magazine,  Dec.,  1911. 

"  The  Wall  Opposite,"  Pierre  Loti,  translated  in  Short 
Story  Classics,  Foreign. 

"  The  End  of  the  Tether,"  Joseph  Conrad,  in  Youth. 


VI 

IMPRESSIONISTIC  STORIES 

The  White  Old  Maid. —  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 
The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher. —  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


293 


I  prefer  commencing  with  the  consideration  of  an  effect. 
Keeping  originality  always  in  view  —  for  he  is  false  to  himself 
who  ventures  to  dispense  with  so  obvious  and  so  easily  attain- 
able a  source  of  interest  —  I  say  to  myself,  in  the  first  place,  "  Of 
the  innumerable  effects  or  impressions  of  which  the  heart,  the 
intellect,  or  (more  generally)  the  soul  is  susceptible,  what  one 
shall  I,  on  the  present  occasion,  select?"  Having  chosen  a 
novel  first,  and  secondly,  a  vivid  effect,  I  consider  whether  it 
can  be  best  wrought  by  incident  or  tone,  or  the  converse,  or  by 
peculiarity  both  of  incident  and  tone  —  afterwards  looking  about 
me*  (or  rather  within)  for  such  combinations  of  event  or  tone 
as  shall  best  aid  me  in  the  construction  of  the  effect. —  EDGAR 
ALLAN  POE,  The  Philosophy  of  Composition. 


294 


IMPRESSIONISTIC  STORIES 

The  value  of  a  literary  term  lies  in  the  comprehensive 
and  precise  picture  which  it  calls  up  in  the  mind  of  him 
who  reads  it.  So  we  must  seek  to  limit,  as  well  as  seize 
upon,  the  meaning  of  this  word  "  impressionistic." 

The  first  purpose  in  telling  a  story  would  seem  to  be  the 
pleasure  or  the  profit  of  the  hearer  —  if  we  exclude  the 
bore  who  tells  a  yarn  chiefly  to  please  himself.  But  a 
closer  scrutiny  of  certain  stories  discloses  other  objects 
of  the  narrator,  and  these  may  be  either  subordinate  or 
paramount  to  considerations  of  benefit  or  entertainment. 
The  most  important  of  these  artistic  purposes  is  to  repro- 
duce in  the  hearer  the  full  effect  which  a  certain  mood, 
theme,  character,  situation,  incident,  or  chain  of  incidents, 
originally  made  upon  the  story-teller  himself.  When  he 
succeeds  in  reproducing  in  others  his  own  feeling,  by 
such  means  as  we  shall  presently  study,  he  does  so  by 
impressionistic  means. 

Poe,  writing  in  Graham's  Magazine,  May,  1842,  says: 
"  A  skilful  literary  artist  has  constructed  a  tale.  If  wise, 
he  has  not  fashioned  his  thoughts  to  accommodate  his 
incidents ;  but  having  conceived,  with  deliberate  care,  a 
certain  unique  or  single  effect  to  be  wrought  out,  he  then 
invents  such  incidents  —  he  then  combines  such  events  — 
as  may  best  aid  him  in  establishing  the  preconceived  ef- 

295 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

feet.  If  his  very  initial  sentence  tend  not  to  the  out- 
bringing  of  this  effect,  then  he  has  failed  in  his  first  step. 
In  the  whole  composition  there  should  be  no  word  writ- 
ten, of  which  the  tendency,  direct  or  indirect,  is  not  to 
the  one  preestablished  design." 

It  does  not  seem  probable  that  Poe  meant  to  speak  of 
impressionism  as  constituting  so  much  a  distinct  type  of 
story  as  to  point  out  its  importance  as  a  method  in  all 
story-telling;  and  we  must  not  overlook  its  usefulness  in 
this  respect.  Indeed,  nearly  all  good  short-stories  begin, 
in  the  mind  of  the  author,  and  end,  in  the  spirit  of  the 
reader,  with  a  more  or  less  clear  and  unified  impression. 
Still,  certain  little  fictions  are,  alike  in  theme  and  treat- 
ment, so  decidedly  conceived  and  told  with  the  purpose 
of  leaving  the  reader  under  the  spell  of  a  mood,  a  feeling, 
a  character,  or  a  situation,  that  they  are  IMPRESSIONISTIC 
stories,  rather  than  impressionistic  STORIES. 

The  natural  tendency  for  the  impressionistic  writer  is 
to  subordinate  incident  and  plot  to  tone  —  in  a  word,  to 
emphasize  a  picture,  whether  internal  or  external,  rather 
than  a  set  of  happenings,  which  in  dealing  with  fiction 
we  call  the  action.  So  an  impressionistic  narrative  may 
really  tell  a  story  of  situation,  crisis,  and  denouement,  or, 
as  is  more  likely  to  be  the  case,  it  may  tend  decidedly 
toward  the  sketch.  All  depends  upon  the  nature  of  the 
theme.  Thus,  the  beauty  of  sacrifice  demands  an  action 
to  illustrate  that  abnegation,  and  all  the  accessories  must 
serve  as  high-lights  and  shadows  to  bring  out  this  motive 
in  strong  relief ;  but  the  tone  of  gloom  may  be  conveyed 
without  even  the  semblance  of  a  plot. 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  297 

Now  a  story  may  produce  a  gloomy  effect  without  de- 
liberately picturing  an  atmosphere  of  gloom  —  it  may 
leave  the  reader  with  a  vague,  pessimistic  distaste  for  joy, 
and  yet  present  no  such  picture.  Or  it  may  marvellously 
delineate  loneliness,  without  leaving  that  as  the  final  im- 
pression of  the  story.  This  is  not  impressionism,  though 
it  may  be  very  good  story-telling.  Impressionism  is  con- 
scious art,  art  prepense,  and,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  two 
stories  presented  as  examples  in  this  section,  subordinates 
everything  to  tonal  effect ;  in  other  words,  the  impression- 
istic story  symbolizes  in  human  action  some  human  mood 
or  condition.  For  this  reason  such  stories  are  often 
called  stories  of  symbolism. 


HAWTHORNE  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne  was  born  in  Salem,  Massachu- 
setts, July  4,  1804.  His  New  England  ancestors  bore  the 
name  Hathorne,  as  did  the  author's  sea-captain  father  — 
also  a  Nathaniel  —  who  died  at  Surinam,  Dutch  Guiana, 
when  his  son  was  four  years  old.  In  1818  the  family 
moved  to  Raymond,  Maine,  but  most  of  the  youth's  edu- 
cation was  gotten  at  Salem,  and  there  his  family  returned 
in  1820.  The  following  year  he  entered  Bowdoin  Col- 
lege, from  which  he  was  graduated  in  1825.  At  this  time 
—  when  he  was  twenty-one  —  he  had  already  begun 
Twice-Told  Tales;  it  was  then,  too,  that  he  inserted  the 
w  into  his  name.  He  was  now  writing  industriously, 
often  under  a  pseudonym ;  he  also  did  considerable  hack 
"and  editorial  work.  During  1839  and  a  part  of  1840  he 


298  STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 

served  in  the  Boston  Custom  House;  then  he  joined  the 
Brook  Farm  Community  in  1841,  but  remained  there  only 
a  short  time.  He  married  Sophia  Peabody  in  1842.  In 
1846  he  returned  to  the  Customs  service,  in  Salem,  re- 
maining this  time  about  three  years.  In  1853  he  was 
appointed  by  his  classmate,  President  Pierce,  as  United 
States  Consul  at  Liverpool.  During  the  more  than  three 
years  of  his  consulship  he  traveled  widely  in  Great  Brit- 
ain, and  later  spent  much  time  in  Italy,  where  some  of 
his  best  work  was  accomplished.  During  the  last  years 
of  his  life  he  wrote  but  intermittently,  being  a  prey  to 
depression  and  ill  health.  He  died  at  Plymouth,  New 
Hampshire,  May  19,  1864,  and  is  buried  in  the  Sleepy 
Hollow  Cemetery,  Concord,  Mass. 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne  was  a  remarkable  novelist,  essay- 
ist, and  short-story  writer.  The  Scarlet  Letter  and  The 
Marble  Faun,  are  his  greatest  novels.  The  House  of 
the  Seven  Gables  is  a  series  of  related  sketches  rather 
than  a  romance.  Probably  his  best  short-stories  are 
"  The  Birth-mark,"  "  Rappaccini's  Daughter,"  and 
"  Drown's  Wooden  Image "  in  Mosses  From  An  Old 
Manse;  "  The  Gray  Champion,"  "  The  Minister's  Black 
Veil,"  "  The  Gentle  Boy,"  "  The  Great  Carbuncle,"  "  Dr. 
Heidegger's  Experiment,"  "  The  Ambitious  Guest," 
"  Wakefield,"  and  "  The  White  Old  Maid,"  from  Twice- 
Told  Tales;  and  "The  Great  Stone  Face,"  "Ethan 
Brand  "  and  "  The  Snow-Image,"  in  The  Snow-Image 
and  other  Twice-Told  Tales.  These  three  collections 
contain  also  many  charming  sketches,  while  The  Wonder 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  299 

Book,  and   Tangleivood   Tales  are  rich   in  interest   for 
younger  readers. 

"  The  White  Old  Maid,"  given  herewith  in  full,  was 
first  published  in  the  New  England  Magazine  for  July, 
1835,  and  was  entitled  "  The  Old  Maid  in  the  Winding 
Sheet,  by  the  Author  of  The  Gray  Champion." 

Hawthorne  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  winning  in  his 
day  the  almost  unanimous  approval  of  critics  both  at 
home  and  abroad,  and  this  in  a  period  when  criticism  was 
not  a  gentle  art.  Time,  moreover,  has  only  added  to  his 
praises.  As  a  fiction  writer  he  had  depth,  breadth,  and 
height.  Hawthorne  alone  among  the  fictionists  of  his  era 
may  justly  be  said  to  have  a  philosophy  of  his  own ;  his 
themes  cover  a  wide  range ;  and  the  loftiness  of  his  ideals 
is  well  recognized.  As  Longfellow  discerned,  and  gen- 
erously announced  as  early  as  1837,  Hawthorne  was  a 
poet  who  wrote  prose.  He  knew  a  mood  in  nature  to 
match  every  human  emotion,  and  in  her  multiform  life 
he  saw  images  to  enforce  a  thousand  striking  compari- 
sons. He  was  a  student  of  the  soul,  too,  albeit  a  gloomy 
one,  for  the  most  part.  But  while  the  sombreness  of 
lives  beset  by  stern  problems  oppressed  him,  and  but 
little  humor  brightens  his  pages,  one  searches  in  vain  for 
a  pessimistic  spirit  —  Hawthorne's  knowledge  of  the  hu- 
man heart  saddened  him,  but  it  did  not  make  him  mis- 
anthropic. One  feels  the  reality,  the  vital  bearing,  of 
the  things  he  writes  about.  It  is  impossible  to  read  him 
appreciatively  and  not  realize  the  sincerity  of  the  man, 


3OO  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

and  the  fine  earnestness,  the  upright  though  severe  just- 
ness, with  which  he  viewed  life.  Sweetness,  beauty  — 
haunting  beauty,  indeed  —  and  a  certain  airy  lightness, 
were  not  wanting  in  his  work ;  but  the  big  tones  —  reso- 
nant, solemn  at  times,  and  inspiring  always  —  were  poetic 
insight,  fervid  intensity,  and  lofty  purpose.  Hawthorne 
was  a  seer.  The  inside  of  things  was  disclosed  to  him. 
That  which  he  could  not  see,  he  felt.  And  with  a  classic 
purity  of  style  he  worded  the  fantastic,  gloomy,  light- 
some, or  tragic  pageantry  of  his  creations  in  sentences 
that  live  and  live. 

I  wish  God  had  given  me  the  faculty  of  writing  a  sunshiny 
book. —  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE,  Letter  to  James  T.  Fields. 

Soon  to  be  all  spirit,  I  have  already  a  spiritual  sense  of  human 
nature,  and  see  deeply  into  the  hearts  of  mankind,  discovering 
what  is  hidden  from  the  wisest.  .  .  .  My  glance  comprehends 
the  crowd,  and  penetrates  the  breast  of  the  solitary  man. —  NA- 
THANIEL HAWTHORNE,  My  Home  Return,  in  Tales  and  Sketches. 

He  uses  his  characters,  like  algebraic  symbols,  to  work  out 
certain  problems  with;  they  are  rather  more,  yet  rather  less, 
than  flesh  and  blood. —  H.  A.  BEERS,  quoted  in  Tappan's  Topical 
Notes  on  American  Authors. 

Hawthorne's  style,  at  its  best,  is  one  of  the  most  perfect  media 
employed  by  any  writer  using  the  English  language.  Dealing, 
as  it  usually  does,  with  an  immaterial  subject-matter,  with  dream- 
like impressions,  and  fantastic  products  of  the  imagination,  it  is 
concrete  without  being  opaque, —  luminously  concrete,  one  might 
say.  No  other  writer  that  I  know  of  has  the  power  of  making 
his  fancies  visible  and  tangible  without  impairing  their  delicate 
immateriality.  If  any  writer  can  put  the  rainbow  into  words, 
and  yet  leave  it  a  rainbow,  surely  that  writer  is  Hawthorne. — 
RICHARD  LE  GALLIENNE,  Attitudes  and  Avowals. 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  3OI 

In  all  his  most  daring  fantasies  Hawthorne  is  natural ;  and 
though  he  may  project  his  vision  far  beyond  the  boundaries  of 
fact,  nowhere  does  he  violate  the  laws  of  nature.  ...  A  brutal 
misuse  of  the  supernatural  is  perhaps  the  very  lowest  degrada- 
tion of  the  art  of  fiction.  But  "  to  mingle  the  marvellous  rather 
as  a  slight,  delicate,  and  evanescent  flavour  than  as  any  actual 
portion  of  the  substance,"  to  quote  from  the  preface  to  the 
House  of  the  Seven  Gables,  this  is,  or  should  be,  the  aim  of  the 
writer  of  Short-stories  whenever  his  feet  leave  the  firm  ground 
of  fact  as  he  strays  in  the  unsubstantial  realms  of  fantasy. — 
BRANDER  MATTHEWS,  The  Philosophy  of  the  Short-story. 

Hawthorne  has  been  called  a  mystic,  which  he  was  not, —  and 
a  psychological  dreamer,  which  he  was  in  very  slight  degree. 
He  was  really  the  ghost  of  New  England.  I  do  not  mean  the 
"  spirit,"  nor  the  "  phantom,"  but  the  ghost  in  the  older  sense 
in  which  that  term  is  used,  the  thin,  rarefied  essence  which  is 
to  be  found  somewhere  behind  the  physical  organization :  em- 
bodied, indeed,  and  not  by  any  means  in  a  shadowy  or  diminu- 
tive earthly  tabernacle,  but  yet  only  half  embodied  in  it,  endowed 
with  a  certain  painful  sense  of  the  gulf  between  his  nature  and 
its  organization,  always  recognizing  the  gulf,  always  trying  to 
bridge  it  over,  and  always  more  or  less  unsuccessful  in  the 
attempt.  His  writings  are  not  exactly  spiritual  writings,  for 
there  is  no  dominating  spirit  in  them.  They  are  ghostly  writ- 
ings. ...  I  may,  perhaps,  accept  a  phrase  of  which  Hawthorne 
himself  was  fond, — "the  moonlight  of  romance," — and  compel  it 
to  explain  something  of  the  secret  of  his  characteristic  genius. — 
R.  H.  HUTTON,  Essays  in  Literary  Criticism. 

This,  too  ["The  White  Old  Maid"],  is  a  story,  in  the  sense 
that  something  happens ;  and  yet  the  real  story,  by  which  I  mean 
the  narrative  which  would  logically  connect  and  develop  these 
events,  is  just  hinted  at,  and  is  not  very  important.  It  is  sub- 
ordinated, indeed,  to  a  new  aim.  "The  White  Old  Maid"  is 
narrative  for  a  purpose,  and  this  purpose  is  to  suggest  an  im- 
pression, and  to  leave  us  with  a  vivid  sensation  rather  than  a 
number  of  remembered  facts.  In  short,  it  is  contrived,  not 


3O2  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

to  leave  a  record  of  such  and  such  an  old  woman  who  did  this 
or  that,  but  rather  to  stamp  upon  our  minds  the  impression  of 
a  mystery-haunted  house,  mysterious  figures  entering,  strange 
words,  and  a  terrible  sorrow  behind  all.  Towards  such  a  result 
the  structure  of  the  plot,  every  bit  of  description,  every  carefully 
chosen  word,  directly  tends. —  HENRY  SEIDEL  CANBY,  The  Book 
of  the  Short  Story. 

FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON 
HAWTHORNE 

Hours  in  a  Library,  Leslie  Stephen  ( 1874)  ;  Study  of 
Hawthorne,  George  Parsons  Lathrop  (1876);  Life,  in 
the  English  Men  of  Letters  series,  Henry  James  (1880)  ; 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne  and  His  Wife,  Julian  Hawthorne 
(1885)  ;  Life,  in  the  Great  Writers  series,  Moncure  D. 
Conway  (1890)  ;  Personal  Recollections  of  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne,  Horatio  Bridge  (1893)  ;  Memories  of  Haw- 
thorne, Rose  Hawthorne  Lathrop  (1897)  ;  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne,  Anne  Fields  (1899)  ;  Life,  in  the  American 
Men  of  Letters  series,  George  Edward  Woodberry 
(1902). 

THE  WHITE  OLD  MAID 

BY    NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE 

The     moonbeams     came     through       Introduction  of  setting,  giv 
two  deep  and  narrow  windows,  and          ins  atmosphere  of  story, 
showed    a    spacious    chamber    richly 
furnished     in     an     antique     fashion. 
From  one  lattice  the  shadow  of  the 
diamond    panes    was    thrown    upon 


IMPRESSIONISTIC    STORIES 


303 


the  floor;  the  ghostly  light,  through 
the  other,  slept  upon  a  bed,  falling  be- 
tween the  heavy  silken  curtains,  and 
illuminating  the  face  of  a  young  man. 
But,  how  quietly  the  slumberer  lay! 
how  pale  his  features !  and  how  like  a 
shroud  the  sheet  was  wound  about 
his  frame !  Yes ;  it  was  a  corpse,  in 
its  burial  clothes. 

2.  Suddenly,  the  fixed  features 
seemed  to  move  with  dark  emotion. 
Strange  fantasy !  It  was  but  the 
shadow  of  the  fringed  curtain  wav- 
ing betwixt  the  dead  face  and  the 
moonlight,  as  the  door  of  the  cham- 
ber opened  and  a  girl  stole  softly 
to  the  bedside.  Was  there  delusion 
in  the  moonbeams,  or  did  her  ges- 
ture and  her  eye  betray  a  gleam  of 
triumph,  as  she  bent  over  the  pale 
corpse  —  pale  as  itself  —  and  pressed 
her  living  lips  to  the  cold  ones  of 
the  dead  ?  As  she  drew  back  from 
that  long  kiss,  her  features  writhed 
as  if  a  proud  heart  were  fighting 
with  its  anguish.  Again  it  seemed 
that  the  features  of  the  corpse  had 
moved  responsive  to  her  own.  Still 
an  illusion!  The  silken  curtain  had 
waved,  a  second  time,  betwixt  the 
dead  face  and  the  moonlight,  as  an- 
other fair  young  girl  unclosed  the 
door,  and  glided,  ghostlike,  to  the 
bedside.  There  the  two  maidens 
stood,  both  beautiful,  with  the  pale 
beauty  of  the  dead  between  them. 
But  she  who  had  first  entered  was 
proud  and  stately,  and  the  other  a 
soft  and  fragile  thing. 


FIRST  PLOT  SITUATION. 


This  uncertainty  strikes  the 
tone  of  the  story,  which 
trembles  constantly  be- 
tween the  real  and  the 
fancied,  the  physical  and 
the  spirit  world,  keeping 
the  reader  in  doubt  as  to 
whether  he  is  witnessing 
a  manifestation  of  the 
supernatural  or  is  deceived 
by  the  mysterious  atmo- 
sphere of  the  unusual. 


TWO      MAIN      CHARACTERS      IN- 
TRODUCED. 


304 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


3.  "Away!"   cried    the    lofty    one. 
"Thou  hadst  him  living!    The  dead 
is  mine ! " 

4.  "Thine!"    returned    the    other, 
shuddering.     "Well         hast         thou 
spoken !     The  dead  is  thine !  " 

5.  The     proud    girl     started,     and 
stared  into  her  face  with  a  ghastly 
look.    But  a  wild  and  mournful  ex- 
pression passed   across   the   features 
of   the   gentle   one;    and   weak   and 
helpless,  she  sank  down  on  the  bed, 
her  head  pillowed  beside  that  of  the 
corpse,  and  her  hair  mingling  with 
his  dark  locks.    A  creature  of  hope 
and  joy,  the  first  draught  of  sorrow 
had  bewildered  her. 

6.  "Edith!"  cried  her  rival. 

7.  Edith  groaned,  as  with  a  sudden 
compassion  of  the  heart ;  and  remov- 
ing her  cheek  from  the  dead  youth's 
pillow,    she    stood    upright,    fearfully 
encountering   the   eyes    of   the    lofty 
girl. 

8.  "Wilt    thou    betray    me?"    said 
the  latter  calmly. 

9.  "Till  the  dead  bid  me  speak,  I 
will     be     silent,"     answered     Edith. 
"  Leave  us  alone  together !     Go,  and 
live  many  years,  and  then  return,  and 
tell    me   of   thy    life.     He,    too,    will 
be    here!     Then,    if    thou    tellest    of 
sufferings  more  than  death,  we  will 
both  forgive  thee." 

10.  "And      what      shall      be      the 
token?"  asked  the  proud  girl,  as  if 
her  heart  acknowledged  a  meaning  in 
these  wild  words. 

11.  "This     lock     of     hair,"     said 


Note  the  archaic,  formal 
language,  which  sets  the 
period  in  the  long  ago. 

Motif    of    story. 


Note    "of   the    heart.' 


Full  statement  of  the  motif, 
ending  with  If  12.  FOUN- 
DATION OF  MAIN  Caisis. 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES 


305 


Edith,  lifting  one  of  the  dark,  clus- 
tering curls  that  lay  heavily  on  the 
dead  man's  brow. 

12.  The  two  maidens  joined  their 
hands  over  the  bosom  of  the  corpse, 
and  appointed  a  day  and  hour,  far, 
far  in  time  to  come,  for  their  next 
meeting      in      that      chamber.    The 
statelier  girl  gave  one  deep  look  at 
the  motionless  countenance,  and  de- 
parted —  yet       turned       again      and 
trembled  ere  she  closed  the  door,  al- 
most believing  that  her  dead   lover 
frowned  upon  her.    And  Edith,  too! 
Was  not  her  white  form  fading  into 
the    moonlight?     Scorning   her    own 
weakness   she   went   forth,   and  per- 
ceived that  a  negro  slave  was  wait- 
ing in  the  passage  with  a  wax-light, 
which  he  held  between  her  face  and 
his   own,   and   regarded  her,   as   she 
thought,  with  an  ugly  expression  of 
merriment.     Lifting     his     torch     on 
high,  the  slave  lighted  her  down  the 
staircase,    and    undid    the    portal    of 
the  mansion.    The  young  clergyman 
of  the  town  had  just  ascended  the 
steps,  and  bowing  to  the  lady,  passed 
in  without  a  word. 

13.  Years,  many  years,  rolled  on; 
the    world    seemed    new    again,    so 
much  older  was  it  grown  since  the 
night    when    those    pale    girls    had 
clasped      their     hands      across     the 
bosom  of  the  corpse.     In  the  interval, 
a    lonely    woman    had    passed    from 
youth     to     extreme     age,     and     was 
known  by  all  the  town  as  the  "  Old 
Maid    in    the    Winding    Sheet."    A 


End  of  first  part  of  story. 


Second  stage. 


Hawthorne's    first    title 
this   story 


fof 


306 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


taint  of  insanity  had  affected  her 
whole  life,  but  so  quiet,  sad,  and 
gentle,  so  utterly  free  from  violence, 
that  she  was  suffered  to  pursue  her 
harmless  fantasies,  unmolested  by 
the  world,  with  whose  business  or 
pleasure  she  had  nought  to  do.  She 
dwelt  alone,  and  never  came  into  the 
daylight,  except  to  follow  funerals. 
Whenever  a  corpse  was  borne  along 
the  street  in  sunshine,  rain,  or 
snow ;  whether  a  pompous  train  of 
the  rich  and  proud  thronged  after  it, 
or  few  and  humble  were  the  mourn- 
ers, behind  them  came  the  lonely 
woman  in  a  long  white  garment 
which  the  people  called  her  shroud. 
She  took  no  place  among  the  kin- 
dred or  the  friends,  but  stood  at  the 
door  to  hear  the  funeral  prayer,  and 
walked  in  the  rear  of  the  procession, 
as  one  whose  earthly  charge  it  was 
to  haunt  the  house  of  mourning,  and 
be  the  shadow  of  affliction,  and  see 
that  the  dead  were  duly  buried.  So 
long  had  this  been  her  custom  that 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town  deemed 
her  a  part  of  every  funeral,  as  much 
as  the  coffin  pall,  or  the  very  corpse 
itself,  and  augured  ill  of  the  sinner's 
destiny  unless  the  "  Old  Maid  in  the 
Winding  Sheet"  came  gliding,  like 
a  ghost,  behind.  Once,  it  is  said,  she 
affrighted  a  bridal  party  with  her 
pale  presence,  appearing  suddenly  in 
the  illuminated  hall,  just  as  the  priest 
was  uniting  a  false  maid  to  a  wealthy 
man,  before  her  lover  had  been  dead 
a  year.  Evil  was  the  omen  to  that 


Character    delineation,    large- 
ly mental  and  moral. 


Key. 


Contributory   incident 


IMPRESSIONISTIC    STORIES 


307 


marriage !  Sometimes  she  stole 
forth  by  moonlight  and  visited  the 
graves  of  venerable  Integrity,  and 
wedded  Love,  and  virgin  Innocence, 
and  every  spot  where  the  ashes  of  a 
kind  and  faithful  heart  were  moul- 
dering. Over  the  hillocks  of  those 
favored  dead  would  she  stretch  out 
her  arms,  with  a  gesture,  as  if  she 
were  scattering  seeds;  and  many  be- 
lieved that  she  brought  them  from 
the  garden  of  Paradise;  for  the 
graves  which  she  had  visited  were 
green  beneath  the  snow,  and  covered 
with  sweet  flowers  from  April  to 
November.  Her  blessing  was  bet- 
ter than  a  holy  verse  upon  the  tomb- 
stone. Thus  wore  away  her  long, 
sad,  peaceful,  and  fantastic  life,  till 
few  were  so  old  as  she,  and  the  peo- 
ple of  later  generations  wondered 
how  the  dead  had  ever  been  buried, 
or  mourners  had  endured  their 
grief,  without  the  "Old  Maid  in  the 
Winding  Sheet" 

14.  Still  years  went  on,  and  still 
she  followed  funerals,  and  was  not 
yet  summoned  to  her  own  festival 
of  death.  One  afternoon  the  great 
street  of  the  town  was  all  alive  .with 
business  and  bustle,  though  the  sun 
now  gilded  only  the  upper  half  of  the 
church  spire,  having  left  the  house- 
tops and  loftiest  trees  in  shadow. 
The  scene  was  cheerful  and  ani- 
mated, in  spite  of  the  sombre  shade 
between  the  high  brick  buildings. 
Here  were  pompous  merchants,  in 
white  wigs  and  laced  velvet;  the 


Note      language 
holism. 


of      sym« 


Key. 


Third    stage. 


Preparation    for    main    crisis. 
Opening   of   MAIN    PLOT    IN- 
CIDENT. 


308 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


bronzed  faces  of  sea-captains ;  the 
foreign  garb  and  air  of  Spanish  Cre- 
oles; and  the  disdainful  port  of  na- 
tives of  Old  England;  all  contrasted 
with  the  rough  aspect  of  one  or  two 
back  settlers,  negotiating  sales  of 
timber  from  forests  where  axe  had 
never  sounded.  Sometimes  a  lady 
passed,  swelling  roundly  forth  in  an 
embroidered  petticoat,  balancing  her 
steps  in  high-heeled  shoes,  and 
courtesying  with  lofty  grace  to  the 
punctilious  obeisances  of  the  gentle- 
men. The  life  of  the  town  seemed 
to  have  its  very  centre  not  far  from 
an  old  mansion,  that  stood  somewhat 
back  from  the  pavement,  surrounded 
by  neglected  grass,  with  a  strange  air 
of  loneliness,  rather  deepened  than 
dispelled  by  the  throng  so  near.  Its 
site  would  have  been  suitably  occu- 
pied by  a  magnificent  Exchange  or 
a  brick  block,  lettered  all  over  with 
various  signs;  or  the  large  house 
itself  might  have  made  a  noble  tav- 
ern, with  the  "  King's  Arms  "  swing- 
ing before  it,  and  guests  in  every 
chamber,  instead  of  the  present  soli- 
tude. But  owing  to  some  dispute 
about  the  right  of  inheritance,  the 
mansion  had  been  long  without  a 
tenant,  decaying  from  year  to  year, 
and  throwing  the  stately  gloom  of  its 
shadow  over  the  busiest  part  of  the 
town.  Such  was  the  scene,  and 
such  the  time,  when  a  figure  unlike 
any  that  have  been  described  was 
observed  at  a  distance  down  the 
street. 


Local-color. 


Central     setting;     return 
original    setting. 


to 


Development  of  setting,  and 

TONE    OJ?    AW    iiMPXV    HOUSE. 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES 


309 


15.  "I    espy    a    strange    sail,    yon- 
der," remarked  a  Liverpool  captain ; 
"  that  woman  in  the  long  white  gar- 
ment ! " 

16.  The  sailor  seemed  much  struck 
by  the  object,  as  were  several  others 
who,    at    the    same    moment,    caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  figure  that  had  at- 
tracted   his    notice.    Almost    imme- 
diately the  various  topics  of  conver- 
sation gave  place  to  speculations,  in 
an  undertone,  on  this  unwonted  oc- 
currence. 

17.  "Can  there  be  a  funeral  so  late 
this  afternoon  ?  "  inquired  some. 

18.  They   looked   for  the   signs  of 
death    at    every    door  —  the    sexton, 
the  hearse,  the  assemblage  of  black- 
clad  relatives  —  all  that  makes  up  the 
woful      pomp      of      funerals.    They 
raised     their     eyes,     also,     to     the 
sun-gilt    spire    of    the    church,    and 
wondered    that    no    clang    proceeded 
from    its    bell,    which    had    always 
tolled  till  now  when  this  figure  ap- 
peared in  the  light  of  day.     But  none 
had  heard  that  a  corpse  was  to  be 
borne    to    its    home    that    afternoon, 
nor  was  there  any  token  of  funeral, 
except   the    apparition   of   the    "  Old 
Maid  in  the  Winding  Sheet." 

19.  "  What    may     this     portend  ?  " 
asked  each  man  of  his  neighbor. 

20.  All    smiled    as    they    put    the 
question,  yet  with  a  certain  trouble 
in  their  eyes,  as  if  pestilence  or  some 
other  w-ide  calamity  were  prognosti- 
cated    by     the     untimely     intrusion 
among  the  living  of  one  whose  pres- 


First  main  character. 


Key. 


Contrast 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


ence  had  always  been  associated  with 
death  and  woe.  What  a  comet  is  to 
the  earth  was  that  sad  woman  to  the 
town.  Still  she  moved  on,  while  the 
hum  of  surprise  was  hushed  at  her 
approach,  and  the  proud  and  the 
humble  stood  aside,  that  her  white 
garment  might  not  wave  against 
them.  It  was  a  long,  loose  robe,  of 
spotless  purity.  Its  wearer  appeared 
very  old,  pale,  emaciated,  and  feeble, 
yet  glided  onward  without  the  un- 
steady pace  of  extreme  age.  At  one 
point  of  her  course  a  little  rosy  boy 
burst  forth  from  a  door,  and  ran, 
with  open  arms,  towards  the  ghostly 
woman,  seeming  to  expect  a  kiss  from 
her  bloodless  lips.  She  made  a  slight 
pause,  fixing  her  eye  upon  him  with 
an  expression  of  no  earthly  sweet- 
ness, so  the  child  shivered  and  stood 
awe-struck,  rather  than  affrighted, 
while  the  Old  Maid  passed  on.  Per- 
haps her  garment  might  have  been 
polluted  even  by  an  infant's  touch; 
perhaps  her  kiss  would  have  been 
death  to  the  sweet  boy  within  a  year. 

21.  "  She  is  but  a  shadow,"  whis- 
pered the  superstitious.     "  The  child 
put   forth    his    arms    and   could    not 
grasp  her  robe !  " 

22.  The  wonder  was  increased  when 
the    Old    Maid    passed    beneath    the 
porch   of  the   deserted   mansion,   as- 
cended the  moss-covered  steps,  lifted 
the  iron  knocker,  and  gave  three  raps. 
The  people  could  only  conjecture  that 
some  old  remembrance,  troubling  her 
bewildered   brain,   had   impelled   the 


Impressionism   vivid. 


Direct 
tion. 


character       descrip» 


Contrast. 


Character       delineation       by 
suggestion. 

Tone    of    story    summarized. 


Crisis  approaches. 


IMPRESSIONISTIC    STORIES 


poor  woman  hither  to  visit  the 
friends  of  her  youth;  all  gone  from 
their  home  long  since  and  forever, 
unless  their  ghosts  still  haunted  it — 
fit  company  for  k'ae  "  Old  Maid  in  the 
Winding  Sheet."  An  elderly  man  ap- 
proached the  steps,  and,  reverently 
uncovering  his  gray  locks,  essayed  to 
explain  the  matter. 

23.  "  None,      Madam,"      said      he, 
"  have  dwelt  in  this  house  these  fif- 
teen years  agone  —  no,  not  since  the 
death  of  old  Colonel  Fenwicke,  whose 
funeral  you  may  remember  to  have 
followed.     His  heirs,  being  ill  agreed 
among  themselves,  have  let  the  man- 
sion-house go  to  ruin." 

24.  The   Old   Maid   looked   slowly 
round  with  a  slight  gesture  of  one 
hand,  and  a  finger  of  the  other  upon 
her  lip,  appearing  more  shadow-like 
than    ever    in    the    obscurity    of   the 
porch.    But  again  she  lifted  the  ham- 
mer,  and   gave,   this    time,    a   single 
rap.    Could  it  be  that  a  footstep  was 
now  heard   coming  down   the  stair- 
case of  the  old  mansion,   which  all 
conceived  to  have  been  so  long  un- 
tenanted?     Slowly,  feebly,  yet  heavi- 
ly,   like    the    pace    of    an    aged    and 
infirm   person,   the   step    approached, 
more    distinct    on    every    downward 
stair,  till  it  reached  the  portal.    The 
bar  fell  on  the  inside ;  the  door  open- 
ed.   One  upward  glance  towards  the 
church    spire,    whence    the    sunshine 
had  just  faded,  was  the  last  that  the 
people  saw  of  the  "  Old  Maid  in  the 
Winding  Sheet" 


The      house 
paragraphs 


mentioned      in 
x,   12  and   14. 


Note  "  None  —  have." 

Contributory   incident. 
First   mention   of   name. 


Note    atmosphere 
ness- 


of   vague- 


312 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


25.  "  Who  undid  the  door  ? 
many. 

26.  This    question,    owing    to    the 
depth  of  shadow  beneath  the  porch, 
no   one    could    satisfactorily    answer. 
Two  or  three  aged  men,  while  pro- 
testing   against    an    inference    which 
might   be    drawn,   affirmed    that   the 
person  within  was  a  negro,  and  bore 
a  singular  resemblance  to  old  Gesar, 
formerly  a  slave   in  the   house,   but 
freed  by  death  some  thirty  years  be- 
fore. 

27.  "Her  summons  has  waked  up 
a    servant    of   the   old    family,"    said 
one,  half  seriously. 

28.  "  Let    us    wait    here,"    replied 
another.     "More    guests    will   knock 
at  the  door,  anon.    But  the  gate  of 
the     graveyard     should    be    thrown 
open !  " 

29.  Twilight    had    overspread    the 
town    before    the    crowd    began    to 
separate,    or   the    comments    on   this 
incident  were  exhausted.    One  after 
another  was  wending  his  way  home- 
ward,   when   a   coach  —  no   common 
spectacle  in  those  days  —  drove  slow- 
ly into   the   street.    It  was   an   old- 
fashioned  equipage,  hanging  close  to 
the  ground,  with  arms  on  the  panels, 
a  footman  behind,  and  a  grave,  cor- 
pulent coachman  seated  high  in  front 
—  the  whole  giving  an  idea  of  solemn 
state  and  dignity.    There  was  some- 
thing awful  in  the  heavy  rumbling  of 
the  wheels.    The  coach  rolled  down 
the   street,   till,  coming  to  the  gate- 
way   of    the    deserted    mansion,    it 


asked       Tone  of  mystery, 


See 


Preparation  for  climax. 


No      indication 
came. 


Setting. 


whence      it 


IMPRESSIONISTIC    STORIES 


313 


drew  up,  and  the  footman  sprang  to 
the  ground. 

30.  "Whose  grand  coach  is  this?" 
asked  a  very  inquisitive  body. 

31.  The    footman    made    no    reply, 
but    ascended    the    steps   of   the    old 
house,  gave  three  raps  with  the  iron 
hammer,   and   returned   to   open   the 
coach  door.    An  old  man,  possessed 
of  the   heraldic  lore   so   common  in 
that  day,  examined  the  shield  of  arms 
on  the  panel. 

32.  "  Azure,   a   lion's   head   erased, 
between  three   flower-de-luces,"   said 
he;  then  whispered  the  name  of  the 
family   to   whom   these   bearings   be- 
longed.    The    last    inheritor    of    his 
honors    was    recently    dead,    after    a 
long  residence  amid  the  splendor  of 
the    British    court,    where    his    birth 
and  wealth  had  given  him  no  mean 
station.     "He    left    no    child,"    con- 
tinued the  herald,  "and  these  arms, 
being  in  a  lozenge,  betoken  that  the 
coach  appertains  to  his  widow." 

33.  Further     disclosures,     perhaps, 
might  have  been  made  had  not  the 
speaker   suddenly  been  struck  dumb 
by  the  stern  eye  of  an  ancient  lady 
who  thrust  forth  her  head  from  the 
coach,  preparing  to  descend.    As  she 
emerged,    the    people    saw    that    her 
dress  was  magnificent,  and  her  figure 
dignified,  in  spite  of  age  and  infirm- 
ity—  a  stately  ruin  but  with  a  look, 
at  once,  of  pride  and  wretchedness. 
Her  strong  and  rigid  features  had  an 
awe  about  them,  unlike  that  of  the 
white    Old    Maid,   but   as   of   some- 


Three  raps  signify  a  formal 
demand    for    entrance. 


Setting. 


SECOND  MAIN  CHARACTER. 


3^4 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


thing  evil.  She  passed  np  the  steps, 
leaning  on  a  gold-headed  cane;  the 
door  swung  open  as  she  ascended 
—  and  the  light  of  a  torch  glittered 
on  the  embroidery  of  her  dress,  and 
gleamed  on  the  pillars  of  the  porch. 
After  a  momentary  pause  —  a  glance 
backwards  —  and  then  a  desperate 
effort  —  she  went  in.  The  decipherer 
of  the  coat  of  arms  had  ventured  up 
the  lowest  step,  and  shrinking  back 
immediately,  pale  and  tremulous,  af- 
firmed that  the  torch  was  held  by 
the  very  image  of  old  Caesar. 

34.  "  But  such  a  hideous  grin,"  ad- 
ded he,  "was  never  seen  on  the  face 
of  mortal  man,  black  or  white!     It 
will  haunt  me  till  my  dying  day." 

35.  Meanwhile,      the      coach      had 
wheeled  round,  with  a  prodigious  clat- 
ter on  the  pavement,  and  rumbled  up 
the   street,   disappearing  in  the  twi- 
light, while  the  ear  still  tracked  its 
course.     Scarcely  was  it  gone,  when 
the  people  began  to  question  whether 
the    coach    and    attendants,    the    an- 
cient lady,  the  spectre  of  old  Caesar, 
and  the  Old  Maid  herself,  were  not 
all    a    strangely    combined    delusion, 
with  some  dark  purport  in  its  mys- 
tery.   The  whole  town  was  astir,  so 
that,  instead  of  dispersing,  the  crowd 
continually  increased,  and  stood  gaz- 
ing up  at  the  windows  of  the  man- 
sion, now  silvered  by  the  brightening 
moon.    The   elders,   glad   to   indulge 
the  narrative  propensity  of  age,  told 
of    the    long-faded    splendor    of    the 
family,  the  entertainments  they  had 


Contributory  incident. 


Subordinate       character       oi 
central   action. 


Compare   H    12. 


Note  the  use  of  shadows 
and  twilights  as  accesso- 
ries. 


KEY. 


Atmosphere  —  a      sense      of 
something  about   to   occur. 


IMPRESSIONISTIC    STORIES 


given,  and  the  guests,  the  greatest  of 
the  land,  and  even  titled  and  noble 
ones  from  abroad,  who  had  passed 
beneath  that  portal.  These  graphic 
reminiscences  seemed  to  call  up  the 
ghosts  of  those  to  whom  they  refer- 
red. So  strong  was  the  impression 
on  some  of  the  more  imaginative 
hearers,  that  two  or  three  were  seiz- 
ed with  trembling  fits,  at  one  and  the 
same  moment,  protesting  that  they 
had  distinctly  heard  three  other  raps 
of  the  iron  knocker. 

36.  "  Impossible !  "    exclaimed   oth- 
ers.   "  See !    The    moon    shines    be- 
neath the  porch,  and  shows  every  part 
of  it,  except  in  the  narrow  shade  of 
that  pillar.    There  is  no  one  there !  " 

37.  "Did    not    the    door    open?" 
whispered  one  of  these  fanciful  per- 
sons. 

38.  "Didst  thou  see  it,  too?"  said 
his  companion,  in  a  startled  tone. 

39.  But  the  general  sentiment  was 
opposed    to   the    idea    that    a    third 
visitant  had  made  application  at  thf 
door  of  the  deserted  house.    A  few, 
however,  adhered  to  this  new  marvel, 
and  even  declared  that  a  red  gleam 
like  that  of  a  torch  had  shone  through 
the    great    front    window,   as    if    the 
negro  were  lighting  a  guest  up  the 
staircase.    This,  too,  was  pronounced 
a    mere    fantasy.    But    at    once    the 
whole    multitude    started,    and    each 
man  beheld   his  own   terror  painted 
in  the  faces  of  all  the  rest. 

40.  "  What  an  awful  thing  is  this !  " 
cried  they. 


Contributory  material 


Vagueness. 


Tone. 


3*6 


STUDYING  THE  SHORT-STORY 


41.  A  shriek  too  fearfully  distinct 
for  doubt  had  been  heard  within  the 
mansion,  breaking  forth  suddenly, 
and  succeeded  by  a  deep  stillness,  as 
if  a  heart  had  burst  in  giving  it  utter- 
ance. The  people  knew  not  whether 
to  fly  from  the  very  sight  of  the 
house,  or  to  rush  trembling  in,  and 
search  out  the  strange  mystery. 
Amid  their  confusion  and  affright, 
they  are  somewhat  reassured  by  the 
appearance  of  their  clergyman,  a 
venerable  patriarch,  and  equally  a 
saint,  who  had  taught  them  and  their 
fathers  the  way  to  heaven  for  more 
than  the  space  of  an  ordinary  life- 
time. He  was  a  reverend  figure,  with 
long,  white  hair  upon  his  shoulders, 
a  white  beard  upon  his  breast,  and  a 
back  so  bent  over  his  staff  that  he 
seemed  to  be  looking  downward  con- 
tinually, as  if  to  choose  a  proper 
grave  for  his  weary  frame.  It  was 
some  time  before  the  good  old  man, 
being  deaf  and  of  impaired  intellect, 
could  be  made  to  comprehend  such 
portions  of  the  affair  as  were  com- 
prehensible at  all.  But,  when  pos- 
sessed of  the  facts,  his  energies 
assumed  unexpected  vigor. 

42.  "Verily,"  said  the  old   gentle- 
man, "it  will  be  fitting  that  I  enter 
the    mansion-house    of    the    worthy 
Colonel     Fenwicke,    lest    any    harm 
should  have  befallen  that  true  Chris- 
tain  woman  whom  ye  call  the  '  Old 
Maid  in  the  Winding  Sheet.'" 

43.  Behold,     then,     the     venerable 
clergyman  ascending  the  steps  of  the 


Minor    climax  —  preparation 
for  main   climax. 


Note   shifting   of   tenses, 


Contributory  incident. 


Again  a  shift  in  the  mannet 
of  narration. 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES 


317 


mansion,  with  a  torch-bearer  behind 
him.  It  was  the  elderly  man  who 
had  spoken  to  the  Old  Maid,  and  the 
same  who  had  afterwards  explained 
the  shield  of  arms  and  recognized  the 
features  of  the  negro.  Like  their 
predecessors,  they  gave  three  raps 
with  the  iron  hammer. 

44.  "Old   Caesar  cometh  not,"  ob- 
served the  priest.    "  Well   I  wot  he 
no  longer  doth  service  in  this  man- 
sion." 

45.  "Assuredly,  then,  it  was  some- 
thing   worse,    in    old    Caesar's    like- 
ness !  "  said  the  other  adventurer. 

46.  "  Be  it  as  God  wills,"  answer- 
ed       the        clergyman.    "  See !    my 
strength,  though  it  be  much  decayed, 
hath  sufficed  to  open  this  heavy  door. 
Let  us  enter  and  pass  up  the  stair- 
case." 

47.  Here  occurred   a   singular   ex- 
emplification of  the  dreamy  state  of 
a    very    old    man's    mind.    As    they 
ascended    the   wide    flight   of   stairs, 
the  aged  clegyman  appeared  to  move 
with    caution,    occasionally    standing 
aside,  and  oftener  bending  his  head, 
as  it  were  in  salutation,  thus  practis- 
ing   all    the    gestures    of    one    who 
makes    his    way    through    a    throng. 
Reaching  the  head  of  the  staircase, 
he    looked    around    with     sad     and 
solemn  benignity,  laid  aside  his  staff, 
bared  his  hoary  locks,  and  was  evi- 
dently on  the  point  of  commencing  a 
prayer. 

48.  "Reverend    Sir,"    said   his    at- 
tendant, who  conceived  this  a  very 


One  who  ventures. 


Key    to   tone    further    devel- 
oped. 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


suitable  prelude  to  their  further 
search,  "  would  it  not  be  well  that 
the  people  join  with  us  in  prayer?" 
49-  "  Welladay !  "  cried  the  old 
clergyman,  staring  strangely  around 
him.  "  Art  thou  here  with  me,  and 
none  other?  Verily,  past  times  were 
present  to  me,  and  I  deemed  that  I 
was  to  make  a  funeral  prayer,  as 
many  a  time  heretofore,  from  the 
head  of  this  staircase.  Of  a  truth, 
I  saw  the  shades  of  many  that  are 
gone.  Yea,  I  have  prayed  at  their 
burials,  one  after  another,  and  the 
'Old  Maid  in  the  Winding  Sheet' 
hath  seen  them  to  their  graves !  " 

50.  Being    now    more    thoroughly 
awake   to   their  present  purpose,   he 
took  his  staff  and  struck  forcibly  on 
the    floor,    till    there    came    an    echo 
from  each  deserted  chamber,  but  no 
menial    to    answer    their    summons. 
They    therefore    walked    along    the 
passage,   and  again  paused,  opposite 
to  the  great   front  window  through 
which   was   seen   the   crowd,   in    the 
shadow  and  partial  moonlight  of  the 
street  beneath.     On  their  right  hand 
was  the  open  door  of  a  chamber,  and 
a  closed  one  on  their  left.     The  cler- 
gyman pointed  his  cane  to  the  carved 
oak  panel  of  the  latter. 

51.  "Within     that    chamber,"    ob- 
served he,  "  a  whole  life-time  since, 
did  I  sit  by  the  death-bed  of  a  good- 
ly young  man,   who,   being  now   at 
the  last  gasp"— 

52.  Apparently     there     was     some 
powerful    excitement    in    the    ideas 


Confusion  between  real  and 
unreal  further  illustrated 
by  contributory  material. 


Deft   introduction   ol   central 
character. 


Tone. 


KEY. 


Foundation  situation. 


Atmosphere. 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES 


319 


which  had  now  flashed  across  his 
mind.  He  snatched  the  torch  from 
his  companion's  hand,  and  threw 
open  the  door  with  such  sudden 
violence  that  the  flame  was  extin- 
guished, leaving  them  no  other  light 
than  the  moonbeams,  which  fell 
through  two  windows  into  the  spa- 
cious chamber.  It  was  sufficient  to 
discover  all  that  could  be  known. 
In  a  high-backed  oaken  arm-chair, 
upright,  with  her  hands  clasped 
across  her  heart,  and  her  head 
thrown  back,  sat  the  "  Old  Maid  in 
the  Winding  Sheet."  The  stately 
dame  had  fallen  on  her  knees,  with 
her  forehead  on  the  holy  knees  of  the 
Old  Maid,  one  hand  upon  the  floor 
and  the  other  pressed  convulsively 
against  her  heart.  It  clutched  a  lock 
of  hair,  once  sable,  now  discolored 
with  a  greenish  mould.  As  the 
priest  and  layman  advanced  into  the 
chamber,  the  Old  Maid's  features 
assumed  such  a  semblance  of  shift- 
ing expression  that  they  trusted  to 
hear  the  whole  mystery  explained  by 
a  single  word.  But  it  was  only  the 
shadow  of  a  tattered  curtain  waving 
betwixt  the  dead  face  and  the  moon- 
light. 

53.  "  Both  dead !  "  said  the  vener- 
able man.  "  Then  who  shall  divulge 
the  secret?  Methinks  it  glimmers  to 
and  fro  in  my  mind,  like  the  light 
and  shadow  across  the  Old  Maid's 
face.  And  now  'tis  gone !  " 


Note    author's    device. 


The     decision 
ferred. 


must     be    in- 


Tone    of 
end. 


vagueness    to    the 


CLIMAX. 


Vague   denouement. 


32O  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

FOR  ANALYSIS 
THE  FALL  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  USHER 

BY   EDGAR    ALLAN    POE 

Son  coeur  est  un  luth  suspendu; 
Sitot  qu'on  le  touche  il   resonne. 

BERANGER. 

^' 

During  the  whole  of  a  dull, 
dark,  and  soundless  day  in  the 
autumn  of  the  year,  when  the  clouds 
hung  oppressively  low  in  the  heavens, 
I  had  been  passing  alone,  on  horse- 
back, through  a  singularly  dreary 
tract  of  country ;  and  at  length  found 
myself,  as  the  shades  of  the  evening 
drew  on,  within  view  of  the  melan- 
choly House  of  Usher.  I  know  not 
how  it  was,  but,  with  the  first  glimpse 
of  the  building,  a  sense  of  insuffer- 
able gloom  prevaded  my  spirit.  I 
say  insufferable;  for  the  feeling  was 
unrelieved  by  any  of  that  half-pleas- 
urable, because  poetic,  sentiment 
with  which  the  mind  usually  receives 
even  the  sternest  natural  images  of 
the  desolate  or  terrible.  I  looked  up- 
on the  scene  before  me  —  upon  the 
mere  house,  and  the  simple  land- 
scape features  of  the  domain,  upon 
the  bleak  walls,  upon  the  vacant  eye- 
like  windows,  upon  a  few  rank  sedg- 
es, and  upon  a  few  white  trunks  of 
decayed  trees  —  with  an  utter  de- 
pression of  soul  which  I  can  compare 
to  no  earthly  sensation  more  prop- 
erly than  to  the  after-dream  of  the 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  321 


reveler  upon  opium :  the  bitter  lapse 
into  every-day  life,  the  hideous  drop- 
ping off  of  the  veil.  There  was  an 
iciness,  a  sinking,  a  sickening  of  the 
heart,  an  unredeemed  dreariness  of 
thought,  which  no  goading  of  the 
imagination  could  torture  into  aught 
of  the  sublime.  What  was  it  —  I 
paused  to  think  —  what  was  it  that 
so  unnerved  me  in  the  contemplation 
of  the  House  of  Usher?  It  was  a 
mystery  all  insoluble;  nor  could  I 
grapple  with  the  shadow  fancies  that 
crowded  upon  me  as  I  pondered.  I 
was  forced  to  fall  back  upon  the  un- 
satisfactory conclusion  that  while,  be- 
yond doubt,  there  are  combinations 
of  very  simple  natural  objects  which 
have  the  power  of  thus  affecting  us, 
still  the  anaylsis  of  this  power  lies 
among  considerations  beyond  our 
depth.  It  was  possible,  I  reflected, 
that  a  mere  different  arrangement  of 
the  particulars  of  the  scene,  of  the 
details  of  the  picture,  would  be  suffi- 
cient to  modify,  or  perhaps  to  an- 
nihilate, its  capacity  for  sorrowful 
impression,  and,  acting  upon  this  idea, 
I  reined  my  horse  to  the  precipitous 
brink  of  a  black  and  lurid  tarn  that 
lay  in  unruffled  lustre  by  the  dwell- 
ing, and  gazed  down  —  but  with  a 
shudder  even  more  thrilling  than  be- 
fore—  upon  the  remodeled  and  in- 
verted images  of  the  gray  sedge,  and 
the  ghastly  tree-stems,  and  the  vacant 
and  eye-like  windows. 

2.  Nevertheless,  in  this  mansion  of 
gloom  I  now  proposed  to  myself  a  so- 


322  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

journ  of  some  weeks.  Its  proprietor, 
Roderick  Usher,  had  been  one  of  my 
boon  companions  in  boyhood ;  but 
many  years  had  elapsed  since  our  last 
meeting.  A  letter,  however,  had 
lately  reached  me  in  a  distant  part 
of  the  country  —  a  letter  from  him 
—  which  in  its  wildly  importunate 
nature  had  admitted  of  no  other  than 
a  personal  reply.  The  MS.  gave 
evidence  of  nervous  agitation.  The 
writer  spoke  of  acute  bodily  illness, 
of  a  mental  disorder  which  oppressed 
him,  and  of  an  earnest  desire  to  see 
me,  as  his  best  and  indeed  his  only 
personal  friend,  with  a  view  of  at- 
tempting, by  the  cheerfulness  of  my 
society,  some  alleviation  of  his  mal- 
ady. It  was  the  manner  in  which  all 
this,  and  much  more,  was  said  —  it 
was  the  apparent  heart  that  went 
with  his  request  —  which  allowed  me 
no  room  for  hesitation ;  and  I  accord- 
ingly obeyed  forthwith  what  I  still 
considered  a  very  singular  summons. 
3.  Although  as  boys  we  had  been 
even  intimate  associates,  yet  I  really 
knew  little  of  my  friend.  His  re- 
serve had  been  always  excessive  and 
habitual.  I  was  aware,  however,  that 
his  very  ancient  family  had  been  not- 
ed, time  out  of  mind,  for  a  peculiar 
sensibility  of  temperament,  display- 
ing itself,  through  long  ages,  in  many 
works  of  exalted  art,  and  manifest- 
ed of  late  in  repeated  deeds  of 
munificent  yet  unobtrusive  charity, 
as  well  as  in  a  passionate  devotion  to 
the  intricacies,  perhaps  even  more 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  323 


than  to  the  orthodox  and  easily 
recognizable  beauties,  of  musical 
science.  I  had  learned,  too,  the  very 
remarkable  fact  that  the  stem  of  the 
Usher  race,  all  time-honored  as  it 
was,  had  put  forth  at  no  period  any 
enduring  branch ;  in  other  words, 
that  the  entire  family  lay  in  the  direct 
line  of  descent,  and  had  always,  with 
a  very  trifling  and  very  temporary 
variation,  so  lain.  It  was  this  de- 
ficiency, I  considered,  while  running 
over  in  thought  the  perfect  keeping 
of  the  character  of  the  premises  with 
the  accredited  character  of  the  people, 
and  while  speculating  upon  the  pos- 
sible influence  which  the  one,  in  the 
long  lapse  of  centuries,  might  have 
exercised  upon  the  other, —  it  was 
this  deficiency,  perhaps,  of  collateral 
issue,  and  the  consequent  urideviat- 
ing  transmission  from  sire  to  son  of 
the  patrimony  with  the  name,  which 
had  at  length  so  identified  the  two 
as  to  merge  the  original  title  of  the 
estate  in  the  quaint  and  equivocal 
appellation  of  the  "  House  of  Usher," 
—  an  appellation  which  seemed  to 
include,  in  the  minds  of  the  peas- 
antry who  used  it,  both  the  family 
and  the  family  mansion. 

4.  I  have  said  that  the  sole  effect 
of  my  somewhat  childish  experiment, 
that  of  looking  down  within  the  tarn, 
had  been  to  deepen  the  first  singular 
impression.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  consciousness  of  the  rapid 
increase  of  my  superstition  —  for  why 
should  I  not  so  term  it? — served 


324  STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 

mainly  to  accelerate  the  increase  it- 
self. Such,  I  have  long  known,  is 
the  paradoxical  law  of  all  sentiments 
having  terror  as  a  basis.  And  it 
might  have  been  for  this  reason 
only,  that,  when  I  again  uplifted  my 
eyes  to  the  house  itself  from  its 
image  in  the  pool,  there  grew  in  my 
mind  a  strange  fancy, —  a  fancy  so 
ridiculous,  indeed,  that  I  but  men- 
tion it  to  show  the  vivid  force  of  the 
sensations  which  oppressed  me.  I 
had  so  worked  upon  my  imagination 
as  really  to  believe  that  about  the 
whole  mansion  and  domain  there 
hung  an  atmosphere  peculiar  to 
themselves  and  their  immediate 
vicinity :  an  atmosphere  which  had  no 
affinity  with  the  air  of  heaven,  but 
which  had  reeked  up  from  the  de- 
cayed trees,  and  the  gray  wall,  and 
the  silent  tarn ;  a  pestilent  and  mystic 
vapor,  dull,  sluggish,  faintly  discern- 
ible, and  leaden-hued. 

5.  Shaking  off  from  my  spirit  what 
must  have  been  a  dream,  I  scanned 
more  narrowly  the  real  aspect  of  the 
building.  Its  principal  feature  seem- 
ed to  be  that  of  an  excessive  antiq- 
uity. The  discoloration  of  ages  had 
been  great.  Minute  fungi  overspread 
the  whole  exterior,  hanging  in  a  fine 
tangled  web-work  from  the  eaves. 
Yet  all  this  was  apart  from  any  ex- 
traordinary dilapidation.  No  portion 
of  the  masonry  had  fallen ;  and  there 
appeared  to  be  a  wild  inconsistency 
between  its  still  perfect  adaptation 
of  parts  and  the  crumbling  condition 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  325 


of  the  individual  stones.  In  this 
there  was  much  that  reminded  me  of 
the  specious  totality  of  old  wood- 
work which  has  rotted  for  long  years 
in  some  neglected  vault,  with  no  dis- 
turbance from  the  breath  of  the  ex- 
ternal air.  Beyond  this  indication  of 
extensive  decay,  however,  the  fabric 
gave  little  token  of  instability.  Per- 
haps the  eye  of  a  scrutinizing  ob- 
server might  have  discovered  a 
barely  perceptible  fissure,  which,  ex- 
tending from  the  roof  of  the  building 
in  front,  made  its  way  down  the  wall 
in  a  zigzag  direction,  until  it  became 
lost  in  the  sullen  waters  of  the  tarn. 
6.  Noticing  these  things,  I  rode 
over  a  short  causeway  to  the  house. 
A  servant  in  waiting  took  my  horse, 
and  I  entered  the  Gothic  archway  of 
the  hall.  A  valet,  of  stealthy  step, 
thence  conducted  me  in  silence 
through  many  dark  and  intricate 
passages  in  my  progress  to  the 
studio  of  his  master.  Much  that  I 
encountered  on  the  way  contributed, 
I  know  not  how,  to  heighten  the 
vague  sentiments  of  which  I  have 
already  spoken.  While  the  objects 
around  me  —  while  the  carvings  of 
the  ceiling,  the  sombre  tapestries- of 
the  walls,  the  ebon  blackness  of  the 
floors,  and  the  phantasmagoric  ar- 
morial trophies  which  rattled  as  I 
strode.,  were  but  matters  of  which, 
or  to  such  as  which,  I  had  been  ac- 
customed from  my  infancy, —  while 
I  hesitated  not  to  acknowledge  how 
familiar  was  all  this,  I  still  wondered 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


to  find  how  unfamiliar  were  the 
fancies  which  ordinary  images  were 
stirring  up.  On  one  of  the  stair- 
cases I  met  the  physician  of  the 
family.  His  countenance,  I  thought, 
wore  a  mingled  expression  of  low 
cunning  and  perplexity.  He  accost- 
ed me  with  trepidation  and  passed 
on.  The  valet  now  threw  open  a 
door  and  ushered  me  into  the  pres- 
ence of  his  master. 

7.  The  room  in  which  I  found  my- 
self was  very  large  and  lofty.  The 
windows  were  long,  narrow,  and 
pointed,  and  at  so  vast  a  distance 
from  the  black  oaken  floor  as  to  be 
altogether  inaccessible  from  within. 
Feeble  gleams  of  encrimsoned  light 
made  their  way  through  the  trellised 
panes,  and  served  to  render  suffi- 
ciently distinct  the  more  prominent 
objects  around  ;  the  eye,  however, 
struggled  in  vain  to  reach  the  re- 
moter angles  of  the  chamber,  or  the 
recesses  of  the  vaulted  and  fretted 
ceiling.  Dark  draperies  hung  upon 
the  walls.  The  general  furniture  was 
profuse,  comfortless,  antique,  and 
tattered.  Many  books  and  musical 
instruments  lay  scattered  about,  but 
failed  to  give  any  vitality  to  the 
scene.  I  felt  that  I  breathed  an 
atmosphere  of  sorrow.  An  air  of 
stern,  deep,  and  irredeemable  gloom 
hung  over  and  pervaded  all. 

8.  Upon  my  entrance,  Usher  arose 
from  a  sofa  on  which  he  had  been  ly- 
ing at  full  length,  and  greeted  me 
with  a  vivacious  warmth  which  had 


IMPRESSIONISTIC    STORIES  327 


much  in  it,  I  at  first  thought,  of  an 
overdone  cordiality, —  of  the  con- 
strained effort  of  the  ennuye  man  of 
the  world.  A  glance,  however,  at  his 
countenance,  convinced  me  of  his 
perfect  sincerity.  We  sat  down;  and 
for  some  moments,  while  he  spoke 
not,  I  gazed  upon  him  with  a  feeling 
half  of  pity,  half  of  awe.  Surely 
man  had  never  before  so  terribly 
altered,  in  so  brief  a  period,  as  had 
Roderick  Usher!  It  was  with  diffi- 
culty that  I  could  bring  myself  to 
admit  the  identity  of  the  wan  being 
before  me  with  the  companion  of  my 
early  boyhood.  Yet  the  character 
of  his  face  had  been  at  all  times  re- 
markable. A  cadaverousness  of  com- 
plexion ;  an  eye  large,  liquid,  and 
luminous  beyond  comparison ;  lips 
somewhat  thin  and  very  pallid,  but  of 
a  surpassingly  beautiful  curve ;  a  nose 
of  a  delicate  Hebrew  model,  but  with 
a  breadth  of  nostril  unusual  in  sim- 
ilar formations;  a  finely-moulded 
chin,  speaking,  in  its  want  of  prom- 
inence, of  a  want  of  moral  energy; 
hair  of  a  more  than  web-like  soft- 
ness and  tenuity, —  these  features, 
with  an  inordinate  expansion  above 
the  regions  of  the  temple,  made  up 
altogether  a  countenance  not  easily 
to  be  forgotten.  And  now  in  the 
mere  exaggeration  of  the  prevailing 
character  of  these  features,  and  of 
the  expression  they  were  wont  to 
convey,  lay  so  much  of  change  that 
I  doubted  to  whom  I  spoke.  The 
now  ghastly  pallor  of  the  skin,  and 


328  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

the  now  miraculous  lustre  of  the  eye, 
above  all  things  startled  and  even 
awed  me.  The  silken  hair,  too,  had 
been  suffered  to  grow  all  unheeded, 
and  as,  in  its  wild  gossamer  texture, 
it  floated  rather  than  fell  about  the 
face,  I  could  not,  even  with  effort, 
connect  its  arabesque  expression 
with  any  idea  of  simple  humanity. 

9.  In  the  manner  of  my  friend  I 
was  at  once  struck  with  an  incoher- 
ence,  an   inconsistency;   and   I   soon 
found  this  to  arise  from  a  series  of 
feeble   and   futile  struggles  to  over- 
come an  habitual  trepidancy,  an  ex- 
cessive nervous  agitation.     For  some- 
thing  of   this    nature    I    had    indeed 
been  prepared,  no  less  by  his  letter 
than    by     reminiscences     of    certain 
boyish  traits,  and  by  conclusions  de- 
duced    from     his    peculiar    physical 
conformation  and  temperament.    His 
action  was  alternately  vivacious  and 
sullen.    His     voice     varied     rapidly 
from  a  tremulous  indecision    (when 
the  animal  spirits  seemed  utterly  in 
abeyance)    to   that   species    of   ener- 
getic concision  —  that  abrupt,  weigh- 
ty,   unhurried,    and    hollow-sounding 
enunciation,     that     leaden,     self-bal- 
anced, and  perfectly  modulated  gut- 
tural     utterance  —  which      may      be 
observed    in    the    lost    drunkard,    or 
the    irreclaimable    eater    of    opium, 
during  the  periods  of  his   most  in- 
tense excitement. 

10.  It  was  thus  that  he  spoke  of 
the  object  of  my  visit,  of  his  earnest 
desire  to  see  me.  and  of  the  solace 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  329 


he  expected  me  to  afford  him.  He 
entered  at  some  length  into  what  he 
conceived  to  be  the  nature  of  his 
malady.  It  was,  he  said,  a  constitu- 
tional and  a  family  evil,  and  one  for 
which  he  despaired  to  find  a  remedy, 
—  a  mere  nervous  affection,  he  im- 
mediately added,  which  would  un- 
doubtedly soon  pass  off.  It  display- 
ed itself  in  a  host  of  unnatural 
sensations.  Some  of  these,  as  he  de- 
tailed them,  interested  and  bewilder- 
ed me;  although,  perhaps,  the  terms 
and  the  general  manner  of  the  nar- 
ration had  their  weight.  He  suffered 
much  from  a  morbid  acuteness  of  the 
senses;  the  most  insipid  food  was 
alone  endurable ;  he  could  wear  only 
garments  of  certain  texture ;  the 
odors  of  all  flowers  were  oppressive ; 
his  eyes  were  tortured  by  even  a  faint 
light ;  and  there  were  but  peculiar 
sounds,  and  these  from  stringed  in- 
struments, which  did  not  inspire  him 
with  horror. 

ii.  To  an  anomalous  species  of  ter- 
ror I  found  him  a  bounden  slave. 
"  I  shall  perish,"  said  he,  "  I  must 
perish  in  this  deplorable  folly.  Thus, 
thus,  and  not  otherwise,  shall  I  be 
lost.  I  dread  the  events  of  the  fu- 
ture, not  in  themselves,  but  in  their 
results.  I  shudder  at  the  thought  of 
any,  even  the  most  trivial,  incident, 
which  may  operate  upon  this  intoler- 
able agitation  of  soul.  I  have,  in- 
deed, no  abhorrence  of  danger,  ex- 
cept in  its  absolute  effect, —  in  terror. 
In  this  unnerved,  in  this  pitiable  con- 


33°  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

clition,  I  feel  that  the  period  will 
sooner  or  later  arrive  when  I  must 
abandon  life  and  reason  together  in 
some  struggle  with  the  grim  phan- 
tasm, FEAR." 

12.  I  learned  moreover  at  intervals, 
and    through    broken    and    equivocal 
hints,  another  singular  feature  of  his 
mental  condition.    He  was  enchain- 
ed   by    certain   superstitious   impres- 
sions in  regard  to  the  dwelling  which 
he  tenanted,   and   whence   for  many 
years  he  had  never  ventured  forth,  in 
regard    to    an   influence   whose   sup- 
posititious   force    was    conveyed    in 
terms  too  shadowy  here  to  be  restat- 
ed,—  an  influence  which  some  peculi- 
arities    in     the     mere      form     and 
substance  of  his  family  mansion  had, 
by  dint  of  long  sufferance,  he  said, 
obtained    over    his    spirit;    an    effect 
which  the  physique  of  the  gray  walls 
and  turrets,  and  of  the  dim  tarn  in- 
to which  they  all  looked  down,  had 
at    length    brought    about    upon    the 
morale   of  his   existence. 

13.  He  admitted,  however,  although 
with    hesitation,    that    much    of    the 
peculiar    gloom   which    thus   afflicted 
him  could  be  traced  to  a  more  nat- 
ural and  far  more  palpable  origin, — 
to  the  serere  and  long-continued  ill- 
ness,   indeed    to    the    evidently    ap- 
proaching dissolution,  of  a  tenderly 
beloved    sister,    his    sole    companion 
for  long  years,  his  last  and  only  rela- 
tive   on    earth.    "  Her    decease,"    he 
said,  with  a  bitterness  which  I  can 
never     forget,     "would    leave    him 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  331 


(him,  the  hopeless  and  the  frail)  the 
last  of  the  ancient  race  of  the  Ush- 
ers." While  he  spoke,  the  lady 
Madeline  (for  so  was  she  called) 
passed  slowly  through  a  remote  por- 
tion of  the  apartment,  and,  without 
having  noticed  my  presence,  disap- 
peared. I  regarded  her  with  an  utter 
astonishment  not  unmingled  with 
dread,  and  yet  I  found  it  impossible 
to  account  for  such  feelings.  A 
sensation  of  stupor  oppressed  me,  as 
my  eyes  followed  her  retreating 
steps.  When  a  door,  at  length,  clos- 
ed upon  her,  my  glance  sought  in- 
stinctively and  eagerly  the  counte- 
nance of  the  brother ;  but  he  had  bur- 
ied his  face  in  his  hands,  and  I  could 
only  perceive  that  a  far  more  than 
ordinary  wanness  had  overspread  the 
emaciated  fingers  through  which 
trickled  many  passionate  tears. 

14.  The  disease  of  the  lady  Made- 
line had  long  baffled  the  skill  of  her 
physicians.  A  settled  apathy,  a  grad- 
ual wasting  away  of  the  person,  and 
frequent  although  transient  affections 
of  a  partially  cataleptical  character, 
were  the  unusual  diagnosis.  Hither- 
to she  had  steadily  borne  up  against 
the  pressure  of  her  malady,  and  had 
not  betaken  herself  finally  to  bed: 
but,  on  the  closing-in  of  the  evening 
of  my  arrival  at  the  house,  she  suc- 
cumbed (as  her  brother  told  me  at 
night  with  inexpressible  agitation) 
to  the  prostrating  power  of  the  de- 
stroyer; and  I  learned  that  the 
glimpse  I  had  obtained  of  her  per- 


332  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

son  would  thus  probably  be  the  last 
I  should  obtain,— that  the  lady,  at 
least  while  living,  would  be  seen  by 
me  no  more. 

15.  For  several  days  ensuing,  her 
name  was  unmentioned  by  either 
Usher  or  myself;  and  during  this 
period  I  was  busied  in  earnest  en- 
deavors to  alleviate  the  melancholy  of 
my  friend.  We  painted  and  read  to- 
gether; or  I  listened,  as  if  in  a  dream, 
to  the  wild  improvisation  of  his 
speaking  guitar.  And  thus,  as  a 
closer  and  still  closer  intimacy  ad- 
mitted me  more  unreservedly  into 
the  recesses  of  his  spirit,  the  more 
bitterly  did  I  perceive  the  futility  of 
all  attempt  at  cheering  a  mind  from 
which  darkness,  as  if  an  inherent 
positive  quality,  poured  forth  upon 
all  objects  of  the  moral  and  physical 
universe,  in  one  unceasing  radiation 
of  gloom. 

16.  I  shall  ever  bear  about  me  a 
memory  of  the  many  solemn  hours 
I  thus  spent  alone  with  the  master  of 
the  House  of  Usher.  Yet  I  should 
fail  in  any  attempt  to  convey  an  idea 
of  the  exact  character  of  the  studies, 
or  of  the  occupations,  in  which  he 
involved  me,  or  led  me  the  way.  An 
excited  and  highly  distempered  ideal- 
ity threw  a  sulphureous  lustre  over 
all.  His  long,  improvised  dirges  will 
ring  forever  in  my  ears.  Among 
other  things,  I  hold  painfully  in  mind 
a  certain  singular  perversion  and  am- 
plification of  the  wild  air  of  the  last 
waltz  of  Von  Weber.  From  the 


IMPRESSIONISTIC    STORIES  333 


paintings  over  which  his  elaborate 
fancy  brooded,  and  which  grew,  touch 
by  touch,  into  vaguenesses  at  which 
I  shuddered  the  more  thrillingly  be- 
cause I  shuddered  knowing  not  why, 
—  from  these  paintings  (vivid  as 
their  images  now  are  before  me)  I 
would  in  vain  endeavor  to  educe  more 
than  a  small  portion  which  should 
lie  within  the  compass  of  merely 
written  words.  By  the  utter  sim- 
plicity, by  the  nakedness  of  his  de- 
signs, he  arrested  and  overawed  at- 
tention. If  ever  mortal  painted  an 
idea,  that  mortal  was  Roderick  Usher. 
For  me  at  least,  in  the  circumstances 
then  surrounding  me,  there  arose, 
out  of  the  pure  abstractions  which 
the  hypochondriac  contrived  to  throw 
upon  his  canvas,  an  intensity  of  in- 
tolerable awe,  no  shadow  of  which 
felt  I  ever  yet  in  the  contemplation 
of  the  certainly  glowing  yet  too  con- 
crete reveries  of  Fuseli. 

17.  One  of  the  phantasmagoric  con- 
ceptions of  my  friend,  partaking  not 
so  rigidly  of  the  spirit  of  abstrac- 
tion, may  be  shadowed  forth,  al- 
though feebly,  in  words.  A  small 
picture  presented  the  interior  of  an 
immensely  long  and  rectangular  vault 
or  tunnel,  with  low  walls,  smooth, 
white,  and  without  interruption  or 
device.  Certain  accessory  points  of 
the  design  served  well  to  convey  the 
idea  that  this  excavation  lay  at  an 
exceeding  depth  below  the  surface  of 
the  earth.  No  outlet  was  observed  in 
any  portion  of  its  vast  extent,  and 


334  '   STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

no  torch,  or  other  artificial  source  of 
light,  was  discernible;  yet  a  flood 
of  intense  rays  rolled  throughout,  and 
bathed  the  whole  in  a  ghastly  and 
inappropriate  splendor. 

18.  I  have  just  spoken  of  that 
morbid  condition  of  the  auditory 
nerve  which  rendered  all  music  in- 
tolerable to  the  sufferer,  with  the 
exception  of  certain  effects  of 
stringed  instruments.  It  was,  per- 
haps, the  narrow  limits  to  which 
he  thus  confined  himself  upon  the 
guitar,  which  gave  birth,  in  great 
measure,  to  the  fantastic  character 
of  his  performances.'  But  the  fer- 
vid facility  of  his  impromptus  could 
not  be  so  accounted  for.  They 
must  have  been,  and  were,  in  the 
notes  as  well  as  in  the  words  of 
his  wild  fantasias  (for  he  not  un- 
frequently  accompanied  himself 
•with  rhymed  verbal  improvisa- 
tions), the  result  of  that  intense 
mental  collectedness  and  concentra- 
tion to  which  I  have  previously 
alluded  as  observable  only  in  par- 
ticular moments  of  the  highest  ar- 
tificial excitement.  The  words  of 
one  of  these  rhapsodies  I  have 
easily  remembered.  I  was,  per- 
haps, the  more  forcibly  impressed  with 
it  as  he  gave  it,  because,  in  the 
under  or  mystic  current  of  its 
meaning,  I  fancied  that  I  perceived, 
and  for  the  first  time,  a  full  con- 
sciousness, on  the. part  of  Usher,  of 
the  tottering  of  his  lofty  reason 
upon  her  throne.  The  verses,  which 


IMPRESSIONISTIC    STORIES  335 


were  entitled  "The  Haunted  Pal- 
ace," ran  very  nearly,  if  not  ac- 
curately, thus:  — 


In  the  greenest  of  our  valleys 

By  good  angels  tenanted, 
Once  a  fair  and  stately  palace  — 

Radiant  palace  —  reared  its  head. 
In  the  monarch  Thought's  dominion, 

It  stood  there; 
Never  seraph  spread  a  pinion 

Over  fabric  half  so  fair. 

II. 

Banners  yellow,   glorious,   golden, 

On  its  roof  did  float  and  flow 
(This  —  all  this  —  was  in  the  olden 

Time  long  ago), 
And  every  gentle  air  that  dallied, 

In  that  sweet  day, 
Along  the  ramparts  plumed  and  pallid, 

A  winged  odor  went  away. 

in. 

Wanderers  in  that  happy  valley 

Through  two  luminous  windows  saw 
Spirits  moving  musically 

To  a  lute's  well-tuned  law, 
Round   about   a   throne,    where   sitting, 

Porphyrogene, 
In  state  his  glory  well  befitting, 

The  ruler  of  the  realm  was  seen. 

IV. 

And  all  with  pearl  and  ruby  glowing 

Was  the  fair  palace  door, 
Through  which  came  flowing,  flowing,  flow- 
ing, 

And  sparkling  evermore, 
A  troop  of  Echoes,  whose  sweet  duty 

Was  but  to  sing, 
In  voices  of  surpassing  beauty, 

The  wit  and  wisdom  of  their  king. 

V. 

But  evil  things,  in   robes  of  sorrow, 
Assailed  the  monarch's  high  estate; 


33^  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

(Ah,  let  us  mourn,  for  never  morrow 

Shall  dawn  upon  him,  desolate!) 
And,  round  about  his  home,  the  glory 

That  blushed  and  bloomed 
Is  but  a  dim-remembered  story 

Of  the  old  time  entombed. 

VI. 

And  travellers  now  within  that  valley 

Through  the  red-litten  windows  see 
Vast   forms  that  move   fantastically 

To  a  discordant  melody; 
While,  like  a  ghastly  rapid  river, 

Through  the  pale  door, 
A  hideous  throng  rush  out  forever, 

And  laugh  —  but  smile  no  more. 


19.  I  well  remember  that  sugges- 
tions arising  from  this  ballad  led  us 
into  a  train  of  thought,  wherein 
there  became  manifest  an  opinion 
of  Usher's  which  I  mention,  not  so 
much  on  account  of  its  novelty  (for 
other  men  have  thought  thus)  as 
on  account  of  the  pertinacity  with 
which  he  maintained  it.  This  opin- 
ion, in  its  general  form,  was  that 
of  the  sentience  of  all  vegetable 
things.  But  in  his  disordered  fancy, 
the  idea  had  assumed  a  more  daring 
character,  and  trespassed,  under  cer- 
tain conditions,  upon  the  kingdom 
of  inorganization.  I  lack  words  to 
express  the  full  extent  or  the  ear- 
nest abandon  of  his  persuasion. 
The  belief,  however,  was  connected 
(as  I  have  previously  hinted)  with 
the  gray  stones  of  the  home  of  his 
forefathers.  The  conditions  of  the 
sentience  had  been  here,  he  imag- 
ined, fulfilled  in  the  method  of  col- 
location of  these  stones, —  in  the  or- 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   S1OK1ES  337 


der  of  their  arrangement,  as  well 
as  in  that  of  the  many  fungi  which 
overspread  them,  and  of  the  decayed 
trees  which  stood  around;  above 
all,  in  the  long  undisturbed  endur- 
ance of  this  arrangement,  and  in  its 
reduplication  in  the  still  waters  of 
the  tarn.  Its  evidence  —  the  evi- 
dence of  the  sentience  —  was  to  be 
seen,  he  said  (and  I  here  started 
as  he  spoke),  in  the  gradual  yet  cer- 
tain condensation  of  an  atmosphere 
of  their  own  about  the  waters  and 
the  walls.  The  result  was  discov- 
erable, he  added,  in  that  silent  yet 
importunate  and  terrible  influence 
which  for  centuries  had  moulded  the 
destinies  of  his  family,  and  which 
made  him  what  I  now  saw  him, — 
what  he  was.  Such  opinions  need 
no  comment,  and  I  will  make  none. 
20.  Our  books  —  the  books  which 
for  years  had  formed  no  small  por- 
tion of  the  mental  existence  of  the 
invalid  —  were,  as  might  be  sup- 
posed, in  strict  keeping  with  this 
character  of  phantasm.  We  pored 
together  over  such  works  as  the  Ver- 
vert  and  Chartreuse  of  Cresset;  the 
Belphegor  of  Machiavelli;  the 
Heaven  and  Hell  of  Swedenborg; 
the  Subterranean  Voyage  of  Nicholas 
Klimm  by  Holberg;  the  Chiromancy 
of  Robert  Flud,  of  Jean  D'lndagine, 
and  of  De  la  Chambre;  the  Journey 
into  the  Blue  Distance  of  Tieck ;  and 
the  City  of  the  Sun  of  Campanella. 
One  favorite  volume  was  a  small  oc- 
tavo edition  of  the  Directorium  7n- 


STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 


quisitorum,  by  the  Dominican  Ey- 
meric  de  Gironne;  and  there  were 
passages  in  Pomponius  Mela,  about 
the  old  African  Satyrs  and  ^Egipans, 
over  which  Usher  would  sit  dreaming 
for  hours.  His  chief  delight,  how- 
ever, was  found  in  the  persusal  of 
an  exceedingly  rare  and  curious  book 
in  quarto  Gothic,  —  the  manual  of  a 
forgotten  church,—  the  Vigila  Mor- 
tuorum  secundum  Chorum  Ecdesia 
Maguntince. 

21.  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the 
wild  ritual  of  this  work,  and  of  its 
probable  influence  on  the  hypochon- 
driac, when  one  evening,  having  in- 
formed me  abruptly  that  the  lady 
Madeline  was  no  more,  he  stated.  his 
intention  of  preserving  her  corpse  for 
a  fortnight  (previously  to  its  final  in- 
terment), in  one  of  the  numerous 
vaults  within  the  main  walls  of  the 
building.  The  worldly  reason,  how- 
ever, assigned  for  this  singular  pro- 
ceeding was  one  which  I  did  not  feel 
at  liberty  to  dispute.  The  brother  had 
been  led  to  his  resolution  (so  he  told 
me)  by  consideration  of  the  unusual 
character  of  the  malady  of  the  de- 
ceased, of  certain  obtrusive  and  eager 
inquiries  on  the  part  of  her  medical 
men,  and  of  the  remote  and  exposed 
situation  of  the  burial-ground  of  the 
family.  I  will  not  deny  that  when 
I  called  to  mind  the  sinister  counte- 
nance of  the  person  whom  I  met  upon 
the  staircase,  on  the  day  of  my  arrival 
at  the  house,  I  had  no  desire  to  op- 
pose what  I  regarded  as  at  best  but 


IMPRESSIONISTIC    STORIES  339 


a  harmless,  and  by  no  means  an  un- 
natural,  precaution. 

22.  At  the  request  of  Usher,  I  per- 
sonally   aided    him    in    the    arrange- 
ments   for    the    temporary    entomb- 
ment.    The    body    having    been    en- 
coffined,    we    two   alone   bore    it    to 
its    rest.    The    vault    in    which    we 
placed   it    (and    which   had   been   so 
long  unopened  that  our  torches,  half 
smothered    in    its    oppressive    atmos- 
phere, gave  us  little  opportunity  for 
investigation)   was  small,  damp,  and 
entirely  without  means  of  admission 
for  light;  lying,  at  great  depth,  im- 
mediately beneath  that  portion  of  the 
building  in  which  was  my  own  sleep- 
ing   apartment.     It    had    been    used 
apparently,   in   remote    feudal   times, 
for  the  worst  purposes  of  a  donjon- 
keep,   and  in  later  days   as  a  place 
of  deposit  for  powder,  or  some  other 
highly    combustible    substance,    as    a 
portion  of  its   floor,  and  the  whole 
interior  of  a  long  archway  through 
which  we  reached  it,  were  carefully 
sheathed     with     copper.     The     door, 
of     massive     iron,     had     been     also 
similarly     protected.      Its     immense 
weight    caused    an    unusually    sharp 
grating  sound  as  it  moved  upon  its 
hinges. 

23.  Having   deposited   our   mourn- 
ful burden  upon  tressels  within  this 
region  of  horror,  we  partially  turned 
aside   the   yet   unscrewed   lid  of  the 
coffin,  and  looked  upon  the  face  of 
the     tenant.    A     striking     similitude 
between  the  brother  and  sister  now 


34°  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

first  arrested  my  attention ;  and 
Usher,  divining,  perhaps,  my 
thoughts,  murmured  out  some  few 
words  from  which  I  learned  that  the 
deceased  and  himself  had  been 
twins,  and  that  sympathies  of  a 
scarcely  intelligible  nature  had  al- 
ways existed  between  them.  Our 
glances,  however,  rested  not  long 
upon  the  dead,  for  we  could  not  re- 
gard her  unawed.  The  disease  which 
had  thus  entombed  the  lady  in  the 
maturity  of  youth,  had  left,  as  usual 
in  all  maladies  of  a  strictly  catalep- 
tical  character,  the  mockery  of  a 
faint  blush  upon  the  bosom  and  the 
face,  and  that  suspiciously  lingering 
smile  upon  the  lip  which  is  so  terri- 
ble in  death.  We  replaced  and 
screwed  down  the  lid,  and  having 
secured  the  door  of  iron,  made  our 
way,  with  toil,  into  the  scarcely  less 
gloomy  apartments  of  the  upper  por- 
tion of  the  house. 

24.  And  now,  some  days  of  bitter 
grief  having  elapsed,  an  observable 
change  came  over  the  features  of 
the  mental  disorder  of  my  friend. 
His  ordinary  manner  had  vanished. 
His  ordinary  occupations  were  neg- 
lected or  forgotten.  He  roamed 
from  chamber  to  chamber  with  hur- 
ried, unequal,  and  objectless  step. 
The  pallor  of  his  countenance  had 
assumed,  if  possible,  a  more  ghastly 
hue,  but  the  luminousness  of  his  eye 
had  utterly  gone  out.  The  once  oc- 
casional huskiness  of  his  tone  was 
heard  no  more;  and  a  tremulous 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  34! 


quaver,  as  if  of  extreme  terror,  ha- 
bitually characterized  his  utterance. 
There  were  times,  indeed,  when  I 
thought  his  unceasingly  agitated 
mind  was  laboring  with  some  oppres- 
sive secret,  to  divulge  which  he 
struggled  for  the  necessary  courage. 
At  times,  again,  I  was  obliged  to 
resolve  all  into  the  mere  inexplica- 
ble vagaries  of  madness,  for  I  be- 
held him  gazing  upon  vacancy  for 
long  hours,  in  an  attitude  of  the 
profoundest  attention,  as  if  listening 
to  some  imaginary  sound.  It  was 
no  wonder  that  his  condition  ter- 
rified—that it  infected  me.  I  felt 
creeping  upon  me,  by  slow  yet  cer- 
tain degrees,  the  wild  influences  of 
his  own  fantastic  yet  impressive  su- 
perstitions. 

25.  It  was,  especially,  upon  retir- 
ing to  bed  late  in  the  night  of  the 
seventh  or  eight  day  after  the  plac- 
ing of  the  lady  Madeline  within  the 
donjon,  that  I  experienced  the  full 
power  of  such  feelings.  Sleep  came 
not  near  my  couch,  while  the  hours 
waned  and  waned  away.  I  strug- 
gled to  reason  off  the  nervousness 
which  had  dominion  over  me.  I  en- 
deavored to  believe  that  much  if  not 
all  of  what  I  felt  was  due  to  the 
bewildering  influence  of  the  gloomy 
furniture  of  the  room, —  of  the  dark 
and  tattered  draperies  which,  tor- 
tured into  motion  by  the  breath  of  a 
rising  tempest,  swayed  fitfully  to 
and  fro  upon  the  walls,  and  rustled 
uneasily  about  the  decorations  of 


342  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

the  bed.  But  my  efforts  were  fruit- 
less. An  irrepressible  tremor  grad- 
ually pervaded  my  frame;  and  at 
length  there  sat  upon  my  very  heart 
an  incubus  of  utterly  causeless 
alarm.  Shaking  this  off  with  a  gasp 
and  a  struggle,  I  uplifted  myself 
upon  the  pillows,  and,  peering  ear- 
nestly within  the  intense  darkness 
of  the  chamber,  hearkened  —  I  know 
not  why,  except  that  an  instinctive 
spirit  prompted  me  —  to  certain  low 
and  indefinite  sounds  which  came, 
through  the  pauses  of  the  storm, 
at  long  intervals,  I  knew  not  whence. 
Overpowered  by  an  intense  senti- 
ment of  horror,  unaccountable  yet 
unendurable,  I  threw  on  my  clothes 
with  haste  (for  I  felt  that  I  should 
sleep  no  more  during  the  night), 
and  endeavored  to  arouse  myself 
from  the  pitiable  condition  into 
which  I  had  fallen,  by  pacing  rap- 
idly to  and  fro  through  the  apart- 
ment. 

26.  I  had  taken  but  a  few  turns 
in  this  manner,  when  a  light  step 
on  an  adjoining  staircase  arrested 
my  attention.  I  presently  recog- 
nized it  as  that  of  Usher.  In  an 
instant  afterward  he  rapped  with  a 
gentle  touch  at  my  door,  and  en- 
tered, bearing  a  lamp.  His  counte- 
nance was,  as  usual,  cadaverously 
wan  —  but,  moreover,  there  was  a 
species  of  mad  hilarity  in  his  eyes, 
—  an  evidently  restrained  hysteria 
in  his  whole  demeanor.  His  air  ap- 
palled me  —  but  anything  was  pref- 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  343 


erable  to  the  solitude  which  I  had 
so  long  endured,  and  I  even  wel- 
comed his  presence  as  a  relief. 

27.  "  And  you  have  not  seen  it  ?  " 
he  said  abruptly,  after  having  stared 
about  him  for  some  moments  in  si- 
lence,— "you  have  not  then  seen  it? 
—  but,       stay!       you     shall."    Thus 
speaking,      and      having      carefully 
shaded  his  lamp,  he  hurried  to  one 
of  the  casements,  and  threw  it  freely 
open    to    the    storm. 

28.  The  impetuous  fury  of  the  en- 
tering gust  nearly  lifted  us  from  our 
feet.    It  was,  indeed,  a  tempestuous 
yet  sternly  beautiful  night,  and  one 
wildly  singular  in  its  terror  and  its 
beauty.    A  whirlwind  had  apparently 
collected  its  force  in  our  vicinity,  for 
there  were  frequent  and  violent  alter- 
ations in  the  direction  of  the  wind; 
and  the  exceeding  density  of  the  clouds 
(which  hung  so  low  as  to  press  upon 
the  turrets  of  the  house)  did  not  pre- 
vent our  perceiving  the  life-like  ve- 
locity with  which  they   flew  career- 
ing   from    all    points    against    each 
other,  without  passing  away  into  the 
distance.     I  say  that  even  their  ex- 
ceeding density  did  not  prevent  our 
perceiving     this ;     yet     we     had     no 
glimpse   of  the  moon   or   stars,   nor 
was  there  any  flashing  forth  of  the 
lightning.     But    the    under    surfaces 
of  the  huge  masses  of  agitated  va- 
por, as  well  as  all  terrestrial  objects 
immediately  around   us,   were  glow- 
ing in  the  unnatural  light  of  a  faintly 
luminous   and   distinctly   visible   gas- 


344  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

eotis    exhalation    which    hung    about 
and  enshrouded  the  mansion. 

29.  "  You     must    not  —  you     shall 
not   behold    this ! "    said    I    shudder- 
ingly,  to  Usher,  as  I  led  him  with  a 
gentle  violence  from  the  window  to 
a   seat.     "  These   appearances,   which 
bewilder    you,    are    merely    electrical 
phenomena    not    uncommon  —  or    it 
may  be  that  they  have  their  ghastly 
origin    in   the    rank   miasma    of    the 
tarn.     Let    us    close    this    casement; 
the  air  is  chilling  and  dangerous  to 
your    frame.     Here    is    one    of   yonr 
favorite  romances.     I  will  read,  and 
you    shall   listen: — and    so   we    will 
pass    away    this    terrible    night    to- 
gether." 

30.  The    antique    volume    which    I 
had  taken  up  was  the  "  Mad  Trist " 
of    Sir    Launcelot    Canning;    but    I 
had  called  it  a  favorite  of  Usher's 
more   in    sad   jest   than   in   earnest; 
for,    in   truth,    there    is    little   in    its 
uncouth    and    unimaginative    prolix- 
ity  which    could    have    had    interest 
for    the    lofty    and    spiritual    ideality 
of  my  friend.     It  was,  however,  the 
only  book  immediately  at  hand ;  and 
I    indulged   a   vague   hope   that   the 
excitement   which   now   agitated   the 
hypochondriac  might  find  relief  (for 
the    history    of    mental    disorder    is 
full   of    similar    anomalies)    even    in 
the   extremeness   of  the   folly   which 
I      should      read.    Could      I      have 
judged,    indeed,    by   the   wild,    over- 
strained  air  of  vivacity  with   which 
he   hearkened,   or   apparently  heark- 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  345 


ened,  to  the  words  of  the  tale,  I 
might  well  have  congratulated  my- 
self upon  the  success  of  my  design. 

31.  I    had    arrived    at    that    well- 
known   portion    of   the    story   where 
Ethelred,  the  hero  of  the  Trist,  hav- 
ing sought  in  vain  for  peaceable  ad- 
mission into  the  dwelling  of  the  her- 
mit, proceeds  to  make  good  an  en- 
trance   by    force.    Here,    it    will    be 
remembered,  the  words  of  the  nar- 
rative run  thus :  — 

32.  "And    Ethelred,    who    was    by 
nature  of  a  doughty  heart,  and  who 
was  now  mighty  withal  on  account 
of    the    powerfulness     of    the   wine 
which    he    had    drunken,    waited    no 
longer  to  hold  parley  with  the  her- 
mit, who,  in  sooth,  was  of  an  obstinate 
and  maliceful  turn,  but,  feeling  the 
rain  upon  his  shoulders,  and  fearing 
the    rising   of   the    tempest,    uplifted 
his    mace    outright    and    with   blows 
made  quickly  room  in  the  plankings 
of  the  door  for  his  gauntleted  hand; 
and  now,  pulling  therewith  sturdily, 
he  so  cracked,  and  ripped,  and  tore 
all    asunder,    that    the    noise    of   the 
dry      and      hollow-sounding      wood 
alarumed  and  reverberated  through- 
out the  forest." 

33.  At  the  termination  of  this  sen- 
tence  I   started,   and   for   a   moment 
paused;   for  it  appeared  to  me    (al- 
though   I    at    once    concluded    that 
my  excited  fancy  had  deceived  me) 
—  it  appeared  to  me  that  from  some 
very  remote  portion  of  the  mansion 
there  came,  indistinctly,  to  my  ears, 


346  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

what  might  have  been  in  its  exact 
similarity  of  character  the  echo  (but 
a  stifled  and  dull  one  certainly)  of 
the  very  cracking  and  ripping 
sound  which  Sir  Launcelot  had  so 
particularly  described.  It  was,  be- 
yond doubt,  the  coincidence  alone 
which  had  arrested  my  attention; 
for,  amid  the  rattling  of  the  sashes 
of  the  casements,  and  the  ordinary 
commingled  noises  of  the  still  in- 
creasing storm,  the  sound,  in  itself, 
had  nothing,  surely,  which  should 
have  interested  or  disturbed  me.  I 
continued  the  story :  — 

34.  "  But  the  good  champion  Eth- 
el red,  now  entering  within  the  door, 
was  so  enraged  and  amazed  to  per- 
ceive no  signal  of  the  maliceful  her- 
mit;  but.  in  the  stead  thereof,  a 
dragon  of  a  scaly  and  prodigious 
demeanor,  and  of  a  fiery  tongue, 
which  sate  in  guard  before  a  palace 
with  a  floor  of  silver;  and  upon  the 
wall  there  hung  a  shield  of  shining 
brass  with  this  legend  enwritten :  — 

Who  entereth  herein,  a  conqueror  hath  bin; 
Who  slayeth  the  dragon,  the  shield  he  shall 
win. 

And  Ethelred  uplifted  his  mace, 
struck  upon  the  head  of  the  dragon, 
which  fell  before  him,  and  gave  up 
his  pesty  breath,  with  a  shriek  so 
horrid  and  harsh,  and  withal  so 
piercing,  that  Ethelred  had  fain  to 
close  his  ears  with  his  hands  against 
the  dreadful  noise  of  it,  the  like 
whereof  was  never  before  heard." 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  347 


35.  Here  again  I  paused  abruptly, 
and    now    with    a    feeling    of    wild 
amazement,    for   there    could    be    no 
doubt  whatever  that,  in  this  instance, 
I   did  actually  hear    (although   from 
what  direction  it  proceeded  I  found 
it  impossible  to  say)   a  low  and  ap- 
parently    distant,     but     harsh,     pro- 
tracted, and  most  unusual  screaming 
or  grating  sound, —  the  exact  counter- 
part of  what  my  fancy  had  already 
conjured    up    for    the    dragon's    un- 
natural   shriek   as    described    by    the 
romancer. 

36.  Oppressed  as   I   certainly   was, 
upon  the  occurrence  of  this   second 
and  most  extraordinary  coincidence, 
by  a  thousand  conflicting  sensations, 
in  which  wonder  and  extreme  terror 
were    predominant,    I    still    retained 
sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  avoid 
exciting,  by  any  observation,  the  sen- 
sitive   nervousness    of    my    compan- 
ion.   I    was    by    no    means    certain 
that   he  had   noticed   the   sounds   in 
question ;      although,      assuredly,      a 
strange    alteration    had    during    the 
last  few  minutes  taken  place  in  his 
demeanor.     From  a  position  fronting 
my  own,  he   had  gradually  brought 
round   his   chair,   so   as   to   sit   with 
his  face  to  the  door  of  the  chamber ; 
and  thus  I   could  but  partially  per- 
ceive   his    features,    although    I    saw 
that  his  lips  trembled  as  if  he  were 
murmuring      inaudibly.     His       head 
had  dropped  upon  his  breast;  yet  I 
knew  that  he  was  not  asleep,   from 
the   wide   and   rigid   opening  of   the 


34^  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

eye  as  I  caught  a  glance  of  it  in 
profile.  The  motion  of  his  body, 
too,  was  at  variance  with  this  idea, 
for  he  rocked  from  side  to  side 
with  a  gentle  yet  constant  and  uni- 
form sway.  Having  rapidly  taken 
notice  of  all  this,  I  resumed  the  nar- 
rative of  Sir  Launcelot,  which  thus 
proceeded :  — 

37.  "And  now  the  champion,  hav- 
ing  escaped    from   the    terrible    fury 
of    the    dragon,    bethinking    himself 
of    the    brazen    shield,    and    of    the 
breaking     up     of     the     enchantment 
which  was  upon  it,  removed  the  car- 
cass from  out  of  the  way  before  him, 
and  approached  valorously  over  the 
silver    pavement    of    the    castle    to 
where  the  shield  was  upon  the  wall; 
which    in   sooth  tarried  not   for   his 
full  coming,  but  fell  down  at  his  feet 
upon  the  silver  floor,  with  a  mighty 
great  and  terrible  ringing  sound." 

38.  No  sooner  had  these  syllables 
passed  my  lips  than  —  as  if  a  shield 
of    brass    had    indeed,    at    the    mo- 
ment, fallen  heavily  upon  a  floor  of 
silver  —  I   became    aware   of   a    dis- 
tinct, hollow,  metallic,  and  clangor- 
ous   yet    apparently    muffled    rever- 
beration.    Completely      unnerved,      I 
leaped  to  my  feet;  but  the  measured 
rocking  movement  of  Usher  was  un- 
disturbed.    I  rushed  to  the  chair  in 
which  he   sat.    His   eyes   were   bent 
fixedly   before   him,   and   throughout 
his  whole  countenance  there  reigned 
a    stony   rigidity.     But,   as    I   placed 
my   hand    upon   his    shoulder,    there 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  349 


came  a  strong  shudder  over  his 
whole  person;  a  sickly  smile  quiv- 
ered about  his  lips;  and  I  saw  that 
he  spoke  in  a  low,  hurried,  and  gib- 
bering murmur,  as  if  unconscious 
of  my  presence.  Bending  closely 
over  him,  I  at  length  drank  in  the 
hideous  import  of  his  words. 

39.  "Not  hear  it?  —  yes,  I  hear 
it,  and  have  heard  it.  Long  —  long 
—  long  —  many  minutes,  many 
hours,  many  days,  have  I  heard  it, 
yet  I  dared  not  —  oh,  pity  me,  miser- 
able wretch  that  I  am!  —  I  dared 
not  —  I  dared  not  speak !  We  have 
put  her  living  in  the  tomb!  Said 
I  not  that  my  senses  were  acute? 
I  nozi'  tell  you  that  I  heard  her  first 
feeble  movements  in  the  hollow  cof- 
fin. I  heard  them  —  many,  many 
days  ago  —  yet  I  dared  not  —  / 
dared  not  speak!  And  now  —  to- 
night —  Ethelred  —  ha!  ha!  —  the 
breaking  of  the  hermit's  door,  and 
the  death-cry  of  the  dragon,  and 
the  clangor  of  the  shield !  —  say 
rather,  the  rending  of  her  coffin,  and 
the  grating  of  the  iron  hinges  of  her 
prison,  and  her  struggles  within  the 
coppered  archway  of  the  vault ! 
Oh,  whither  shall  I  fly?  Will  she 
not  be  here  anon?  Is  she  not  hur- 
rying to  upbraid  me  for  my  haste? 
Have  I  not  heard  her  footsteps  on 
the  stair?  Do  I  not  distinguish  that 
heavy  and  horrible  beating  of  her 
heart  ?  Madman  !  " —  here  he  sprang 
furiously  to  his  feet,  and  shrieked 
out  his  syllables,  as  if  in  the  effort 


350  STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 

he  were  giving  up  his  soul — "Mad- 
man! I  tell  you  that  she  now  stands 
without  the  door! " 

40.  As  if  in  the  superhuman  energy 
of    his     utterance    there    had    been 
found    the    potency    of    a    spell,    the 
huge    antique    panels    to    which    the 
speaker   pointed   threw   slowly   back, 
upon    the    instant,    their    ponderous 
and   ebony   jaws.     It   was   the   work 
of     the     rushing     gust  —  but     then 
without  those  doors  there  did  stand 
the   lofty   and   enshrouded   figure   of 
the  lady  Madeline  of  Usher!     There 
was    blood    upon    her    white    robes, 
and    the    evidence    of    some    bitter 
struggle   upon   every  portion  of  her 
emaciated     frame.     For     a     moment 
she  remained  trembling  and   reeling 
to    and    fro    upon    the    threshold  — 
then,  with   a   low  moaning  cry,   fell 
heavily   inward   upon   the   person   of 
her  brother,  and,  in  her  violent  and 
now    final    death    agonies,   bore    him 
to  the  floor  a  corpse,  and  a  victim 
to  the  terrors  he  had  anticipated. 

41.  From  that  chamber   and   from 
that    mansion     I    fled    aghast.    The 
storm  was  till  abroad  in  all  its  wrath 
as  I   found  myself  crossing  the  old 
causeway.     Suddenly       there       shot 
along   the  path  a  wild   light,   and   I 
turned    to    see    whence    a    gleam    so 
unusual   could  have  issued ;   for  the 
vast    house    and    its    shadows    were 
alone  behind  me.     The  radiance  was 
that  of  the  full,  setting,  and  blood- 
red  moon,  which  now  shone  vividly 
through  that  once  barely  discernible 


IMPRESSIONISTIC   STORIES  35! 


fissure,  of  which  I  have  before 
spoken  as  extending  from  the  roof 
of  the  building,  in  a  zigzag  direc- 
tion, to  the  base.  While  I  gazed, 
this  fissure  rapidly  widened  —  there 
came  a  fierce  breath  of  the  whirl- 
wind—  the  entire  orb  of  the  satellite 
burst  at  once  upon  my  sight  —  my 
brain  reeled  as  I  saw  the  mighty 
walls  rushing  asunder  —  there  was 
a  long,  tumultuous  shouting  sound 
like  the  voice  of  a  thousand  waters 
—  and  the  deep  and  dank  tarn  at  my 
feet  closed  sullenly  and  silently  over 
the  fragments  of  the  "House  of 
Usher." 


SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 

1.  State  as  briefly  as  possible  the  impression  made   upon  you 
by  the  story  under  consideration. 

2.  Cite  passages  which  are  most  effective  in  making  this  im- 
pression. 

3.  Do  you  find  any  jarring  elements  which  tend  to  mar  the 
single  impression? 

4.  Does  the  story  approach  any  types  besides  that  of  the  im- 
pressionistic ? 

5.  Mention  any  weak  points  you  discover. 

6.  Write  about  three  hundred  words  on  the  merits  of  the  story. 

7.  Try  to   find   an   impressionistic   story  in   some   present-day 
magazine. 

8.  Criticise  Poe's  language,  in  general  and  in  particular. 

9.  Would  either  of  these  stories  be  popular  if  written  to-day 
by  an  unknown  author? 

10.  Would  cutting  improve  either  of  these  stories?     If  so,  say 
where. 

11.  Compare  Hawthorne's  style  with  that  of  Poe. 

12.  Which  story  do  you  prefer,  and  why? 


352  STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 

TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  IMPRESSIONISTIC 
STORIES 

"  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,"  Bret  Harte,  in  The  Luck 

of  Roaring  Camp  and  Other  Stories. 
"  The    Father,"    Bjornstjerne    Bjornson,    translated    in 

Stories  by  Foreign  Authors,  Scandinavian. 
"A  Journey,"  Edith  Wharton,  in  The  Greater  Inclina- 
tion. 
"  The  Brushwood  Boy,"  Rudyard  Kipling,  in  The  Day's 

Work. 
"  The  Great  Stone  Face,"  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  in  The 

Snow-Image  and  Other  Twice-Told  Tales. 
"  A  Passion  in  the  Desert,"  Honore  de  Balzac,  translated 

in  Little  French  Masterpieces,  Balzac. 
"  The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum,"  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  in  Tales. 
"  The  Silent  Woman,"  Leopold  Kompert,  translated  in 

Modern  Ghosts. 
"  Jesus  Christ  in  Flanders,"  Honore  de  Balzac,  translated 

in  Little  French  Masterpieces,  Balzac. 
"  Silence,"  Leonid  Andreyev,  translated  in  Short-Story 

Masterpieces. 


VII 
CHARACTER  STUDIES 

The  Piece  of  String. —  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 
The  Substitute. —  FRANCOIS  COPPEE 


353 


Most  of  us,  in  actual  life,  are  accustomed  to  distinguish  people 
who  are  worth  our  while  from  people  who  are  not;  and  those  of 
us  who  live  advisedly  are  accustomed  to  shield  ourselves  from 
people  who  cannot,  by  the  mere  fact  of  what  they  are,  repay  us 
for  the  expenditure  of  time  and  energy  we  should  have  to  make 
to  know  them.  And  whenever  a  friend  of  ours  asks  us  delib- 
erately to  meet  another  friend  of  his,  we  take  it  for  granted  that 
our  friend  has  reasons  for  believing  that  the  acquaintanceship 
will  be  of  benefit  or  of  interest  to  both.  Now  the  novelist  stands 
in  the  position  of  a  friend  who  asks  us  to  meet  certain  people 
whom  he  knows;  and  he  runs  the  risk  of  our  losing  faith  in  his 
judgment  unless  we  find  his  people  worth  our  while.  .  .  .  He 
.  .  .  owes  us  an  assurance  that  they  shall  be  even  more  worth 
while  than  the  average  actual  person. —  CLAYTON  HAMILTON,  Ma- 
terials and  Methods  of  Fiction. 


354 


CHARACTER  STUDIES 

A  character-study,  whether  in  the  form  of  a  sketch,  a 
tale,  or  a  short-story,  attempts  to  reveal  individual  human 
nature  by  the  unfolding  of  the  story. 

In  the  sketch  it  will  be  a  photograph  of  character  in  a 
striking  mood,  under  stress  of  emotion,  or  just  before, 
or  during,  or  after  a  crisis  that  is  peculiarly  suited  to 
showing  either  the  full  character  or  one  of  its  interesting 
phases.  Some  photographs  consist  of  bold  masses  of 
light  and  shade,  others  are  so  handled  as  to  bring  out  a 
multitude  of  details.  The  sketch  allows  in  a  literary  way 
the  same  methods  of  treatment,  but  the  typical  sketch 
avoids  unnecessary  minutiae. 

The  tale  is  also  a  photograph,  but  instead  of  being  a 
single  stationary  picture,  it  is  a  moving-picture,  delinea- 
ting character  by  a  chain  of  incidents  which  allow  us  to 
see  what  the  characters  are  by  what  they  do.  True  to 
the  type  of  the  tale,  it  does  not  deal  with  character  crisis, 
but  merely  reveals  character  in  a  series  of  illuminating 
deeds. 

In  the  character  short-story  the  author's  method  is 
more  complicated,  for  the  whole  mechanism  of  the  story 
—  introduction,  plot,  dialogue,  and  conclusion  —  are  de- 
signed to  show  us  the  characters  under  stress  of  emotion 
and  the  results  of  that  emotional  arousement.  We  learn 

355 


356  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

the  characters  of  the  characters  —  for  there  is  a  distinc- 
tion here  —  by  seeing  how  they  act  upon  each  other,  how 
they  solve  problems,  how  they  meet  the  crises  of  life  - 
what  effect  trouble  or  joy  has  upon  them  —  and  the  final 
outcome  of  it  all.  It  is  like  studying  a  human  being 
while  he  is  being  subjected  to  a  test,  and  observing  the 
development  of  his  character,  or  its  failure  to  stand  the 
test,  in  that  critical  moment. 

By  this  it  will  be  seen  that  a  character-study  is  a  story 
with  a  purpose  —  a  purpose  deeper  than  that  of  affording 
entertainment  from  the  plot.  The  finest  stories  are  those 
which  so  interest  us  in  the  action,  or  plot,  of  the  story 
proper  that  the  profound  character  disclosures  and 
changes  are  borne  in  upon  us  while  we  are  watching  the 
progress  of  the  story.  It  is  this  subtle  balance  of  narra- 
tive and  character-study  which  presents  the  story-teller's 
art  at  its  best. 


THE  PIECE  OF  STRING 
(LA  FICELLE) 

BY   GUY  DE   MAUPASSANT 
Translation  by  The  Editor 


On   all   the   roads   around   Coder-      Introduction, 
villc    the    peasants    and    their    wives       Establishes   the  general   set- 
were  coming  towards  the  town,  for         ti"«-   an^   station   in   life 

_,  of  the  characters, 

it  was  market-day.    The  men  swung 

along  at   an   easy   gait,   their   whole 
bodies   swaying   forward   with   every 


CHARACTER   STORIES 


357 


movement  of  their  long,  twisted  legs      Minute  observation. 

—  legs  misshapen  by  hard  work:  by 
holding    down    the    plough,    which 
throws    up    the    left    shoulder    while 
it   deforms   the   figure;    by   mowing 
grain,   the   effort   of   which    spreads 
the  knees  too  wide  apart  to  permit 
them  to   stand  quite   steady;   by  all 
the   tedious  and   laborious   tasks   of 
the      fields.    Their      blue      blouses, 
starched  and  glossy  as  though  var- 
nished, and  decorated  at  collar  and 
cuffs    with    neat    designs    in    white 
stitching,     puffed     out     about    their 
bony    forms    just    like    balloons    all 
ready  to  rise,  from  which  protruded 
a  head,  two  arms,  and  two  legs. 

2.  Some  of  the  men  were  leading 

a  cow  or  a  calf  at  the  end  of  a  rope.  characterization. 
Following  close  behind,  the  wives 
switched  the  animals  over  the  back 
with  branches  still  covered  with 
leaves,  in  order  to  quicken  their 
pace.  The  women  carried  on  their 
arms  great  baskets  from  which  the 
heads  of  chickens  and  ducks  pro- 
truded, and  they  walked  with  a 
shorter,  quicker  step  than  the  men 

—  each    withered    figure    erect    and 
wrapped    in    a    scanty    little    shawl 

pinned   across  her  flat  bosom,   each      Local-color  by  character  de- 
head    done    up    in  a    white    cloth,         scription. 
bound  close  about  the  hair  and  sur- 
mounted by  a  cap. 

3.  Now  a  wagonette  passed,  drawn 
by  a  nag  at  a  fitful  trot,  grotesquely 
shaking  up  the  two  men  seated  side 
by  side,  and  the  woman  in  the  back 


358 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


if  the  vehicle,  who  clutched  its  sides 
to   lessen   the   rough  jolting. 

4.  In   the    Goderville    market-place 
there  was   a  great   crowd  —  a  med- 
ley   of   man   and    beast.    The    horns 
of  the  cattle,  the  high,  long-napped 
hats  of  the  prosperous  peasants,  and 
the  head-dresses  of  the  women,  rose 
above  the  level  of  the  throng.     And 
the    voices  —  sharp,    shrill,    squawk- 
ing—  rose     in     a     wild,     incessant 
clamor,     which  was  dominated  now 
and  then  by  a  great  guffaw  of  laugh- 
ter   emitted    from    the    robust    chest 
of  some  sturdy  bumpkin,  or  by  the 
long-drawn-out     lowing    of    a    cow 
tethered  to  the  wall  of  a  house. 

5.  Everything     there     smelled     of 
the  stable  —  the  milk,  the  manure,  the 
hay,  the  sweat,  gave  forth  that  acrid, 
offensive    odor   of   man    and   animal 
so  peculiar  to  dwellers  of  the  fields. 

6.  Master          Hauchecorne,          of 
Breaute,  had  just  arrived  at  Goder- 
ville,    and   was    moving   toward   the 
square,    when   he    observed    a    little 
piece     of     string     on     the     ground. 
Economical,    like    a    true     Norman, 
Master     Hauchecorne    thought    that 
everything  which  could  be  used  was 
worth   saving;    so   he   stooped   down 
painfully,  for  he  suffered  from  rheu- 
matism,   picked    up    from    the    dirt 
the     insignificant     scrap     of     twine, 
and     was     just     about     to     roll     it 
up  with  care  when  he  noticed  Mas- 
ter    Malandin,     the     harness-maker, 
standing  on  his  doorstep  looking  at 
him.    Once    the   two   men    had    had 


Local-color. 


CHIEF  CHARACTER. 


The  Normans  are  said  to  be 
typically  "  ambitious,  pos- 
itive, bold,  tricky,  eco- 
nomical." 

FOUNDATION   PLOT   INCIDENT. 


CHIEF  COMPLICATION. 


CHARACTER    STORIES 


35'J 


a  difference  over  the  matter  of  a  hal- 
ter, and  ever  since  they  had  re- 
mained angry  with  each  other,  cher- 
ishing their  spite.  Master  Hauche- 
corne  was  seized  with  a  sort  of 
shame  at  having  his  enemy  thus  see 
him  searching  in  the  mud  for  a  mere 
scrap  of  string.  He  therefore  has- 
tily hid  away  his  find  in  his  blouse, 
and  then  in  his  breeches-pocket. 
At  the  same  time  he  pretended  to 
be  still  searching  in  the  dirt  for 
something  which  he  had  not  been 
able  to  find.  Finally  he  moved  on 
toward  the  market-place,  his  head 
thrust  forward,  his  body  bent  double 
by  his  pains. 

7.  In    a   moment    he    was    lost    in 
the    slowly    shifting,    noisy    throng, 
agitated  by  its  own  constant  chaffer- 
ings.     The  peasants  felt  of  the  cows, 
turned     away,     came     back     again, 
much     puzzled  —  always     fearful     of 
being    over-reached    in    the    bargain, 
never  reaching  a  decision,  watching 
the  eye  of  the  vendor,  seeking  ever 
to  unmask  the  ruse  of  the  man  and 
the  defect  in  his  animal. 

8.  The    women,    having    set    their 
huge  baskets  at  their  feet,  took  out 
their    poultry,    which    they    laid    on 
the  ground   with   legs  tied  together, 
terror-stricken      eyes,      and      scarlet 
combs. 

9.  They    listened   to    offers,    main- 
taining their  price   with   a   keen  air 
but  impassive  face,  or  else  suddenly 
deciding   to   take   the    counter    offer, 


RESULTANT   COMPLICATION. 


Local-color. 


See  note  on 


360 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


crying  out  to   the   slowly   retreating 
customer : 

10.  "  It's  settled,  Master  Anthime, 
I'll  give  them  to  you ! " 

11.  At   length,   little   by   little,   the 
square  became  empty,  and  when  the 
Angelus    sounded   noon,   those  .who 
lived  too  far  away  to  go  home  re- 
paired to  the  inns. 

12.  At   Jourdain's,    the    large    hall 
was  crowded  with  diners,  while  the 
great  court-yard  was  full  of  vehicles 
of  every   sort  —  carts,   gigs,   wagon- 
ettes,  tilburies,   traps,  nameless   car- 
riages,  yellow    with   mud,   shapeless, 
patched,    shafts    pointing    to    heaven 
like  two  arms,  or  with  noses  in  the 
ground  and  backs  in  the  air. 

13.  Right    opposite    the    diners    at 
table,     the     immense     fireplace,     all 
brightly  aflame,  cast  a  lively  warmth 
on  the  backs  of  those  ranged  along 
the    right.    Three    spits    were    turn- 
ing, laden  with  chickens,  pigeons,  and 
legs  of  mutton;  and  a  delectable  odor 
of    roasting    meat,     and     of    juices 
streaming    over    the    browned    skin, 
rose  from  the  hearth,  kindled  good 
humor   and  made   everyone's  mouth 
water. 

14.  All     the     aristocracy     of     the 
plough   were    eating  there,   at   Mdit' 
Jourdain's,     inn-keeper     and     horse- 
trader —  a  sly  fellow  who  had  made 
money. 

15.  The   dishes    went   round,   and, 
like  the  jugs  of  yellow   cider,  were 
emptied.     Everyone    told    of   his    af- 
fairs:  his    sales    and   his   purchases. 


Setting  for  main  crisis. 


Note  how  the  author  gath- 
ers the  people  to  witness 
the  crisis. 

Mait' — colloquial  abbrevia- 
tion for  Maitre,  equal 
here  to  "  Mine  Host." 


CHARACTER   STORIES 


36J 


They  exchanged  news  of  the  crops 

—  the  weather  was  good  for  vegeta- 
bles, but  a  trifle  wet  for  wheat. 

16.  Suddenly   the    roll   of   a   drum 
sounded    in    the    court-yard    before 
the    house.    Instantly    everyone    was 
on   his    feet,   save   a   few   indifferent 
ones,    and    ran    to    the    door    or    to 
the   windows,    with    mouth   still    full 
and  napkin   in   hand. 

17.  After     the     public     crier     had 
ended  his  tattoo,  he  shouted  out  in  a 
jerky    voice,    making    his    pauses    at 
the   wrong  time: 

18.  "  Be   it   known    to   the   people 
of  Goderville,  and  in  general  to  all 

—  persons  present  at  the  market,  that 
there    was    lost   this    morning,    upon 
the       Beuzeville      road       between  — 
nine  and  ten  o'clock,  a  black  leather 
pocketbook,  containing  five  hundred 
francs    and    some    business    papers. 
You  are  requested  to  return  it  —  to 
the  mayor's  office,  without  delay,  or 
to    Master    Fortune    Houlbreque    of 
Manneville.    There    will    be    twenty 
francs   reward." 

19.  Then     the     man    went    away. 
Once  again  was  heard  afar  the  muf- 
fled roll  of  the  drum  and  the  faint 
voice  of  the  crier. 

20.  Then  they  began  to  talk  over 
the  incident,   estimating  the  chances 
Master  Houlbreque  had  of  recover- 
ing or  of  not  recovering  his  pocket- 
book.     Meanwhile  the  meal  went  on. 

21.  They     were     finishing     coffee 
when  the  corporal  of  gendarmes  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway. 


Approach  of  crisis. 


Typical   of    their   class. 


Preparation   for   crisis. 


362 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


22.  He  asked:  % 

23.  "  Master        Hauchecorne        of 
Breaute —  is  he  here?" 

24.  Master  Hauchecorne,  who  was 
seated  at  the  other  end  of  the  table, 
replied : 

25.  "That's  me." 

26.  And  the  corporal  replied: 

27.  "  Master  Hauchecorne,  will  you 
have  the  goodness  to  go  with  me  to 
the     mayor's     office.    Monsieur     le 
maire    would    like    to    speak    with 
you." 

28.  The    peasant  —  surprised,    dis- 
turbed—  drained     his     glass     at     a 
gulp,  got  up,  and,  more  doubled  up 
than    in    the    morning,    because    the 
first  steps  after  a  rest  were  always 
particularly    difficult,   he   started   off, 
repeating : 

29.  "That's    me,    that's    me,"    and 
he  followed  the  corporal. 

30.  The  mayor  was  awaiting  him, 
seated  in  an  armchair.    He  was  the 
notary    of   the   place,    a    large    man, 
grave,  and  pompous  in  speech. 

31.  "  Master     Hauchecorne,"     said 
he,  "you  were  seen  to  pick  up  this 
morning,    on    the    Beuzeville    road, 
the     pocketbook     lost     by     Master 
Houlbreque,    of    Manneville." 

32.  The     countryman,      speechless, 
stared   at  the   mayor,   already  terri- 
fied by  this   suspicion   which   rested 
upon  him  without  his  understanding 
why. 

33.  "Me,    me,    I    picked    up    that 
pocket-book  ?  " 

34.  "  Yes,  exactly  you." 


Closer  approach  of  crisis. 


Note  how  throughout  the 
author  emphasizes  physical 
characteristics  as  indicat- 
ing character. 


Minute   observation. 


FULL  CRISIS. 


CHARACTER    STORIES 


363 


35.  "  Word  of  honor,  I  ain't  even 
so  much  as  seen  it." 

36.  "  You  were  seen." 

37.  "  They  saw  me,  me  ?    Who's  it 
as  seen  me?  " 

38.  "  Monsieur  Malandin,  the  har- 
ness-maker." 

39.  Then  the  old  man  remembered, 
and      understood.     Reddening      with 
rage,  he  cried: 

40.  "Ah!    he    saw    me,    that    cad! 
He  saw  me  pick  up  this  here  string" 
—  look,  m'sieu  le  mairc." 

41.  And,    fumbling   at   the    bottom 
of    his    pocket,    he    pulled    out    the 
little  bit  of  cord. 

42.  But    the    mayor,     incredulous, 
shook  his  head. 

43.  "  You    will   not    make   me   be- 
lieve,     Master     Hauchecorne,      that 
Monsieur   Malandin,   who   is   a   man 
worthy  of  belief,  has  mistaken  that 
bit  of  string  for  a  pocketbook." 

44.  The    peasant,     furious,     raised 
his  hand  and  spat  to  one  side,  thus 
to  attest  his  honor,  repeating: 

45.  "  All  the  same  it's  the  truth  of 
the  good  God,  the  holy  truth,  m'sieu 
le  maire.    There !     Upon  my  soul  and 
my  salvation,  I  say  it  again." 

46.  The  mayor  replied : 

47.  "After  having  picked  the  thing 
up,  you  even  hunted  a  long  time  in 
the    mud    to    see    if    some    piece    of 
money   had   not   fallen    out." 

48.  The  good  man  choked  with  in- 
dignation and  fear. 

49.  "  How   can    anyone   tell  —  how 
can    anyone    tell  —  lies    like    that    to 


Note  how  the  complication 
is  involved  by  personal 
prejudice. 


Circumstantial  evidence.  The 
miser's  character  helps 
condemn  him  unjustly. 


364 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


misrepresent  an  honest  man !     How 
can  anyone  tell — " 

50.  However  he  might  protest,  no 
one  believed  him. 

51.  He  was  confronted  with  Mon- 
sieur   Malandin,    who    repeated    and 
sustained  his  affirmation.    They  rail- 
ed at  each  other  for  a  whole  hour. 
At  his  own  request,  Master  Hauche- 
corne    was     searched.    They     found 
nothing  upon  him. 

52.  At    last,     the    mayor,     greatly 
perplexed,   sent  him  away,  with  the 
warning   that   he    would    advise    the 
public  prosecutor,  and  ask  for  orders. 

53.  The  news   had   spread.     When 
he  came  out  of  the  mayor's  office  the 
old  man  was  surrounded  and  ques- 
tioned with  a  curiosity  either  serious 
or  bantering,  but  into  which  not  the 
least    indignation    entered.    And    he 
began  to  recount  the  history  of  the 
piece    of    string.     No    one    believed 
him.    They  laughed. 

54.  He  went  on,  halted  by  every- 
one,  stopping  his  acquaintances,   re- 
newing endlessly  his  recital  and  his 
protestations,    showing    his    pockets 
turned   inside   out  to  prove  that  he 
had  nothing. 

55.  They  said  to  him: 

56.  "  G'long,  you  old  rascal !  " 

57.  And   he  grew    angry,   working 
himself     into    exasperation,     into     a 
fever,  desperate  at  not  being  believ- 
ed, not  knowing  what  to  do,  a'nd  al- 
ways repeating  his  story. 

58.  Night   came   on.     He  must   go 
home.    He    started    out    with    three 


Suspense. 


Tone  of  story. 


Note     Maupassant's     use 
the  short  paragraph. 


of 


CHARACTER   STORIES 


365 


neighbors  to  whom  he  showed  the 
place  where  he  had  picked  up 
the  piece  of  string;  and  all  along  the 
road  he  kept  talking  of  his  adventure. 

59.  That  evening,  he  made  a  round 
of  the  village  of  Breaute,  in  order  to 
tell  everyone  of  the  matter.    He  en- 
countered none  but  unbelievers. 

60.  He  was  ill  of  it  all  night. 

61.  The  next  day,  about  one  o'clock 
in   the   afternoon,    Marius    Paumellc, 
a  farm-hand  of  Master  Breton's,  the 
market-gardener    at    Ymauville,    re- 
turned the  pocketbook  and  its  con- 
tents    to     Master     Houlbreque,     of 
Manneville. 

62.  This  man  asserted,  in  substance, 
that  he  had  found  the  article  on  the 
road;    but,   not   being   able   to   read, 
he  had  carried  it  home  and  given  it 
to  his  employer. 

63.  The  news  spread  to  the  suburbs. 
Master    Hauchecorne    was    informed 
of    it.     He    set.   himself    at    once    to 
journeying  about  and  commenced  to 
narrate    his    story    as    completed    by 
the  denouement.    He  was  triumphant. 

64.  "Wha'  made  me  feel  bad,"  he 
said,    "  wasn't    the    thing    itself,   you 
understand,     but     it     was    the     lies. 
There's  nothing  hurts  you  like  being 
blamed  for  a  lie." 

65.  All  day  long  he  talked  of  his 
adventure,    he    recounted    it    on    the 
roadways  to  the  people  who  passed, 
at  the  tavern  to  the  folks  who  drank, 
at  the  dismissal  of  church  on  the  fol- 
lowing    Sunday.    He    even    button- 
holed  strangers    to   tell   it   to   them. 


Apparent    resolution    of    the 
complication. 


Tone  of  story. 


FOUNDATION    FOR    CLIMAX. 


366 


STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 


Now,  he  was  tranquil,  and  yet  some- 
thing else  bothered  him  without  his 
being  able  to  tell  precisely  what. 
People  did  not  seem  to  be  convinced. 
He  felt  as  if  they  gossiped  behind 
his  back. 

66.  On   Tuesday  of  the   following 
veek,    he    went    to    the    Goderville 
market,  solely  impelled  by  the  desire 
to  relate  his  story.     Malandin,  stand- 
ing in  his  doorway,  began  to  laugh 
when  he  saw  him  pass.     Why? 

67.  He  accosted  a  farmer  of  Cri- 
quetot  who  would  not  let  him  finish, 
but  giving  him  a  dig  in  the  pit  of 
the  stomach,  cried  out  in  his   face, 
"  G'long,    you   great    rogue !  "    Then 
he  turned  on  his  heel. 

68.  Master      Hauchecorne      stood 
speechless,  growing  more  and  more 
disturbed.     Why  had   he  called   him 
"great  rogue"? 

69.  When  seated  at  table  at  Jour- 
dam's  tavern,  he  again  began  to  ex- 
plain the  affair. 

70.  A      Montivilliers     horse-dealer 
called  out  to  him : 

71.  "  Go  on,  go  on,  you  old  tricks- 
ter, I  know  you,  and  your  piece  of 
string !  " 

72.  Hauchecorne  stammered,  "  But 
—  they  —  found  it,  the  pocketbook !  " 

73.  But  the  other  retorted : 

74.  "  Be      quiet,      daddy !    There's 
one  who  finds  it,  and  one  who  takes 
it  back.     No  one  sees  it,  no  one  recog- 
nizes it,  no  one  is  the  wiser  for  it." 

75.  The  peasant  sat  dumbfounded. 
He  understood  at  last.    They  accused 


RESULTANT   COMPLICATION. 


Peasant    simplicity. 


DENOUEMENT      AS      TO      THE 
RESULTANT     COMPLICATION. 

FINAL  COMPLICATION. 


CHARACTER    STORIES 


367 


him  of  having  returned  the  pocket- 
book  by  a  confederate,  an  accomplice. 

76.  He    tried    to    protest.     Every- 
one at  the  table  began  to  laugh. 

77.  He  could  not  finish  his  dinner, 
and  left  amidst  their  mockeries. 

78.  He    returned    home,    ashamed 
and     indignant,     strangled     by     his 
anger,  by  his  confusion,  and  all  the 
more  thunderstruck  because,  with  his 
Norman   cunning,   he   was   quite   ca- 
pable  of   having    done   the   thing   of 
which    they    had    accused    him,    and 
even  of  boasting  of  it  as  a  good  trick. 
It  appeared  to  him  confusedly  as  im- 
possible to  prove  his  innocence,   for 
his   trickery   was   well   known.     And 
he  felt  struck  to  the  heart  with  the 
injustice  of  the  suspicion. 

79.  Again  he  began  to  tell  of  his 
adventure,  every  day  lengthening  his 
recital,     advancing    each    time    new 
proofs,  more  energetic  protestations, 
and    more    solemn    oaths    which    he 
conjured  up  in  his  hours  of  solitude 
—  his  mind  was   occupied   solely  by 
the    story    of    the    piece    of    string. 
They   believed    him    all    the    less    as 
his    defense    became    more    compli- 
cated  and  his   reasoning  more   fine- 
spun. 

80.  "  Ha,  they  are  liar's  reasons !  " 
,  they  said  behind  his  back. 

81.  He  realized  it;  he  fretted  over 
it;    he    exhausted    himself    in    futile 
efforts. 

82.  He  visibly  wasted  away. 

83.  The  wags  now  made  him  recite 
"The    Piece    of    String"    for    thei' 


Key. 


Tone. 


Key. 


Complication  summarized. 


368  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

amusement,  as  one  persuades  a  soldier 
who  has  been  through  a  campaign, 
to  tell  the  story  of  his  battles.  His 
mind,  attacked  at  its  foundations, 
began  to  totter. 

84.  Towards  the  end  of  December 
he  took  to  his  bed. 

85.  During   the   first   days   of   Jan- 
uary he  died,  and,  in  the  delirium  of 
his  mortal  agony  he  protested  his  in- 
nocence, repeating: 

86.  "—  a    liT    piece    of    string  .  .  .       CLIMAX. 
a   liT   piece   of   string  .  .  .  see,  here 

it  is,  m'sieu'  le  maire." 


COPPfiE  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

Frangois  Edouard  Joachim  Coppee  was  born  in  Paris, 
January  12,  1842.  He  was  educated  at  the  Lycee  St. 
Louis,  and  early  attracted  attention  by  his  poetic  gifts. 
He  held  office  as  Librarian  of  the  Senate,  and  also 
Guardian  of  the  Archives  at  the  Comedie  Frangaise. 
The  honors  of  membership  in  the  French  Academy  and 
that  of  being  decorated  with  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor  were  given  him  in  1883  and  1888  respectively. 
He  died  May  23,  1908. 

Frangois  Coppee  was  a  poet,  dramatist,  and  short-story 
writer.  The  collection  Poemes  Modernes,  published  at 
the  age  of  twenty-seven,  contains  some  remarkable  work 
which  well  represents  his  talent.  The  plays  Madame  de 
Maintenon  and  Le  Luthier  de  Cremorne  rank  with  his 
best  dramatic  work.  Among  his  short-story  gems  are 
"The  Sabots  of  Little  Wolff,"  "At  Table,"  "Two 


CHARACTER   STORIES  369 

Clowns,"  "  The  Captain's  Vices,"  "  My  Friend  Meutrier." 
"  An  Accident,"  and  "  The  Substitute." 

As  a  novelist,  Coppee  left  no  permanent  mark  upon 
his  times,  for  in  this  field  he  was  far  surpassed  by  his 
contemporaries ;  but  as  a  writer  of  little  prose  fictions,  he 
stands  well  forward  among  that  brilliant  group  which 
includes  those  immortals  of  the  short-story  —  Maupas- 
sant, Daudet,  and  Merimee.  From  the  work  of  these 
masters,  Coppee's  is  well  distinguished.  The  Norman 
Maupassant  drew  his  lines  with  a  sharper  pencil,  and,  by 
the  same  token,  an  infinitely  harder  one ;  Daudet,  child 
of  Provence  though  he  was,  dipped  his  stylus  more  often 
in  the  acid  of  satire;  and  the  Parisian  Merimee,  though 
nearer  than  any  other  to  Coppee  in  his  manner  of  work, 
was  less  in  sympathy  with  his  own  characters  than  the 
warmer-hearted  author  of  "  The  Sabots  of  Little  Wolff  " 
and  "  The  Substitute  " —  which  follows  in  a  translation 
by  the  author  of  this  volume.  Coppee  was  almost  an 
idealist  —  certainly  he  was  quick  to  respond  to  the  call 
of  the  ideal  in  his  themes.  Amidst  so  much  that  is 
sordid  and  gross  in  French  fiction,  how  refreshing  it  is 
to  read  a  master  who  could  be  truthful  without  wallow- 
ing, moral  without  sermonizing,  compassionate  without 
sniveling,  humorous  without  buffooning,  and  always  dis- 
close in  his  stories  the  spirit  of  a  sympathetic  lover  of 
mankind.  Like  Dickens,  he  chose  the  lowly  for  his  char- 
acters, and  like  Dickens,  he  found  poetry  in  their  simple 
lives. 


37O  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

In  common  with  other  modern  French  writers,  with  Daudet, 
Maupassant,  and  others,  Coppee  excels  in  the  writing  of  tales. 
His  prose  is  remarkable  for  the  same  qualities  that  appear  in 
his  poetical  works:  sympathy,  tenderness,  marked  predilection 
for  the  weak,  the  humble,  and  especially  a  masterly  treatment  of 
subjects  essentially  Parisian  and  modern. —  ROBERT  SANDERSON, 
Francois  Coppee,  in  WARNER'S  Library  of  the  World's  Best 
Literature. 

Compassion  is  the  chief  quality  of  this  little  masterpiece, — 
compassion  and  understanding  of  a  primitive  type  of  character. 
The  author  shows  us  the  good  in  a  character  not  altogether  bad ; 
and  he  almost  makes  us  feel  that  the  final  sacrifice  was  justifi- 
able. He  succeeds  in  doing  this  chiefly  because  he  shows  us  the 
other  characters  only  as  they  appeared  to  Jean  Francois,  thus 
focusing  the  interest  of  the  reader  on  this  single  character. — 
BRANDER  MATTHEWS,  The  Short-story. 

More  than  Daudet,  Coppee  deserves  the  title  of  the  French 
Dickens.  A  fellow  member  of  the  French  Academy,  Jose  de 
Heredia,  calls  him  "the  poet  of  the  humble,  painting  with  sin- 
cere emotion  his  profound  sympathy  for  the  sorrows,  the  mis- 
eries, and  the  sacrifices  of  the  meek."  As  an  artist  in  fiction, 
says  Heredia,  "  Coppee  possesses  preeminently  the  gift  of  pre- 
senting concrete  fact  rather  than  abstraction,"  and  a  "great 
grasp  of  character,"  enabling  him  "  to  show  us  the  human  heart 
and  intellect  in  full  play  and  activity "— both  of  which  endow- 
ments were  the  supreme  characteristics  of  the  author  of  Nicho- 
las Nickleby  and  David  Copperfield. —  MERION  M.  MILLER,  Intro- 
duction to  The  Guilty  Man. 

Contrast  the  touching  pathos  of  the  "  Substitute,"  poignant  in 
his  magnificent  self-sacrifice,  by  which  the  man  who  has  con- 
quered his  shameful  past  goes  back  willingly  to  the  horrible  life 
he  has  fled  from,  that  he  may  save  from  a  like  degradation  and 
from  an  inevitable  moral  decay  the  one  friend  he  has  in  the 
world,  all  unworthy  as  this  friend  is  —  contrast  this  with  the 
story  of  the  gigantic  deeds  "  My  Friend  Meutrier  "  boasts  about 
unceasingly,  not  knowing  that  he  has  been  discovered  in  his 


CHARACTER   STORIES  3/1 

little  round  of  daily  domestic  duties  —  making  the  coffee  of  his 
good  old  mother,  and  taking  her  poodle  out  for  a  walk.  .  .  . 
No  doubt  M.  Coppee's  conies  [stories]  have  not  the  sharpness 
of  Maupassant's  nor  the  brilliancy  of  M.  Daudet's.  But  what  of 
it?  They  have  qualities  of  their  own.  They  have  sympathy, 
poetry,  and  a  power  of  suggesting  pictures  not  exceeded,  I  think, 
by  those  of  either  Maupassant  or  M.  Daudet.  M.  Coppee's  street 
views  in  Paris,  his  interiors,  his  impressionist  sketches  of  life 
under  the  shadow  of  Notre  Dame,  are  convincingly  successful. — 
BRANDER  MATTHEWS,  Aspects  of  Fiction. 

FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON  COPP^E 

Introduction  to  Ten  Tales  by  Coppee,  Brander  Mat- 
thews ( 1890) ;  Books  and  Play-Books,  Brander  Matthews 
(1895)  ;  Literary  Movement  in  France  during  the  Nine- 
teenth Century,  Georges  Pellissier  (1897);  Hours  with 
Famous  Parisians,  Stuart  Henry  (1897). 

FOR  ANALYSIS 

THE  SUBSTITUTE 

(LE  REMPLACANT) 

BY   FRANCOIS   COPPEE 
Translation  by  The  Editor1 

He  was  scarcely  ten  years  old 
when  he  was  first  arrested  as  A  vaga- 
bond. 

2.  Thus  he  spoke  to  the  judges: 

3.  I  am  called  Jean  Francois  Le- 
turc,  and  for  six  months  now   I've 
been  with  the  man  who  sings  between 
two  lanterns  on  the  Place  de  la  Bas- 

1  Copyright,   1911,  by  J.  B.   Lippincott   Co.,   and  used  by  permission. 


372  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

tille,  while  he  scrapes  on  a  string  of 
catgut.    I  repeat  the  chorus  with  him, 
and  then  I  cry  out,  '  Get  the  collection 
of    new    songs,    ten    centimes,    two 
sous ! '    He    was   always    drunk   and 
beat  me;  that's  why  the  police  found 
me   the   other  night,   in  the  tumble- 
down buildings.     Before  that,  I  used 
to  be  with  the  man  who  sells  brushes. 
My  mother  was  a  laundress ;  she  call- 
ed   herself    Adele.    At    one   time    a 
gentleman  had  given  her  an  establish- 
ment, on  the  ground-floor,  at  Mont- 
martre.     She  was  a  good  worker  and 
loved  me  well.     She  made  money  be- 
cause  she  had   the   clientele   of   the 
cafe  waiters,   and   those   people   use 
lots    of   linen.     Sundays,    she    would 
put  me  to  bed  early  to  go  to  the  ball ; 
but  week  days,  she  sent  me  to  the 
Brothers'  school,  where  I  learned  to 
read.    Well,   at   last  the  sergent-de- 
ville  whose  beat  was  up  our  street, 
began    always    stopping    before    her 
window  to  talk  to  her  —  a  fine  fel- 
low, with  the  Crimean  medal.    They 
got    married,    and    all    went    wrong. 
He  didn't  take  to  me,  and  set  mam- 
ma   against    me.     Every    one    boxed 
my  ears ;  and  it  was  then  that,  to  get 
away  from  home,  I  spent  whole  days 
on  the  Place  Clichy,  where  I  got  to 
know    the    mountebanks.    My    step- 
father   lost    his    place,    mamma    her 
customers;    she   went   to   the   wash- 
house  to  support  her  man.    It  was 
there    she    got    consumption  —  from 
the  steam   of  the  lye.    She   died   at 
Lariboisiere.    She  was  a  good  worn- 


CHARACTER    STORIES  373 


an.  Since  that  time  I've  lived  with 
the  brush-seller  and  the  catgut-scrap- 
er. Are  you  going  to  put  me  in 
prison  ?  " 

4.  He  talked  this  way  openly,  cynic- 
ally, like  a  man.     He  was  a  ragged 
little  rascal,  as  tall  as  a  boot,  with  his 
forehead  hidden  under  a  strange  mop 
of   yellow   hair. 

5.  Nobody    claimed    him,    so    they 
sent  him  to  the  Reform  School. 

6.  Not  very  intelligent,  lazy,  above 
all  maladroit  with  his  hands,  he  was 
able  to  learn  there  only  a  poor  trade 
—  the    reseating    of    chairs.     Yet    he 
was  obedient,  of  a  nature  passive  and 
taciturn,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  have 
been  too  profoundly  corrupted  in  that 
school    of    vice.     But    when,    having 
come  to  his  seventeenth  year,  he  was 
set  free  again  on  the  streets  of  Paris, 
he   found  there,   for  his  misfortune, 
his    prison    comrades,    all    dreadful 
rascals,    exercising    their    low    call- 
ings.    Some    were   trainers    of    dogs 
for    catching    rats    in    the    sewers; 
some    shined    shoes    on    ball    nights 
in    the    Passage    de    1'Opera;    some 
were    amateur     wrestlers,     who     let 
themselves  be  thrown  by  the  Hercules 
of  the  side-shows ;  some  fished  from 
rafts    out   in   the    river,    in    the    full 
sunlight.    He   tried   all  these   things 
a  little,  and  a  few  months  after  he 
had  left  the  house  of  correction  he 
was  arrested  anew  for  a  petty  theft: 
a  pair  of  old  shoes  lifted  from  out  an 
open    shop-window.     Result:    a   year 
of  prison  at  Sainte-Pelagie,  where  he 


374 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


served  as  valet  to  the  political  prison- 
ers. 

7.  He  lived,  astonished,  among  this 
group  of  prisoners,  all  very  young 
and  negligently  clad,  who  talked  in 
loud  voices  and  carried  their  heads 
in  such  a  solemn  way.  They  used  to 
meet  in  the  cell  of  the  eldest  of  them, 
a  fellow  of  some  thirty  years,  already 
locked  up  for  a  long  time  and  ap- 
parently settled  at  Sainte- Pelagic:  a 
large  cell  it  was,  papered  with  colored 
caricatures,  and  from  whose  win- 
dows one  could  see  all  Paris  — its 
roofs,  its  clock-towers,  and  its  domes, 
and  far  off,  the  distant  line  of  the 
hills,  blue  and  vague  against  the  sky. 
There  were  upon  the  walls  several 
shelves  filled  with  books,  and  all  the 
old  apparatus  of  a  salle  d'armes  — 
broken  masks,  rusty  foils,  leather 
jackets,  and  gloves  that  were  losing 
their  stuffing.  It  was  there  that  the 
"  politicians  "  dined  together,  adding 
to  the  inevitable  "  soup  and  beef " 
some  fruit,  cheese,  and  half-pints  of 
wine  that  Jean  Frangois  went  out  to 
buy  in  a  can  —  tumultuous  repasts, 
interrupted  by  violent  disputes, 
where  they  sang  in  chorus  at  the 
dessert  the  Carmagnole  and  fa  ira. 
They  took  on,  however,  an  air  of 
dignity  on  days  when  they  made  place 
for  a  newcomer,  who  was  at  first 
gravely  treated  as  "  citizen,"  but  who 
was  the  next  day  .utoyed,  and  called 
by  his  nickname.  They  used  big 
words  there  —  Corporation,  Solidar- 
ity, and  phrases  all  quite  unintelli- 


Revolutionary  songs  of  1793. 


Tu  —  thou  —  used     only 
familiar  address. 


in 


CHARACTER   STORIES 


375 


gible  to  Jean  Francois,  such  as  this, 
for  example,  which  he  once  heard 
uttered  imperiously  by  a  frightful  lit- 
tle hunchback  who  scribbled  on  paper 
all  night  long: 

8.  "  It  is  settled.    The  cabinet  is  to 
be  thus  composed:     Raymond  in  the 
Department  of  Education,  Martial  in 
the   Interior,  and  I   in   Foreign  Af- 
fairs." 

9.  Having  served  his  time,  he  wan- 
dered again  about   Paris,  under  the 
surveillance  of  the  police,  in  the  fash- 
ion of  beetles  that  cruel  children  keep 
flying  at  the  end  of  a  string.    He  had 
become    one    of    those    fugitive    and 
timid  beings  whom  the  law,  with  a 
sort  of  coquetry,  arrests  and  releases, 
turn  and  turn  about,  a  little  like  those 
platonic    fishermen    who,    so    as    not 
to  empty  the  pond,  throw  back  into 
the  water  the  fish  just  out  of  the  net. 
Without  his  suspecting  that  so  much 
honor    was    done    to    his    wretched 
personality,  he  had  a  special  docket 
in  the  mysterious  archives  of  la  rue 
dc    Jerusalem,    his    name    and    sur- 
names were  written  in  a  large  back- 
hand on  the  gray  paper  of  the  cover, 
and  the  notes  and  reports,  carefully 
classified,  gave  him  these  graded  ap- 
pellations :  "  the  man  named  Leturc," 
"the    prisoner   Leturc,"    and   at   last 
"the  convicted  Leturc." 

10.  He  stayed  two  years  out  of 
prison,  dining  a  la  California,  sleeping 
in  lodging-houses,  and  sometimes  in 
lime-kilns,  and  taking  part  with  his 
fellows  in  endless  games  of  pitch- 


Police  headquarters. 


The  California,  a   cheap  eat- 
ing-house in  Paris. 


376 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


penny    on   the   boulevards    near   the 
city   gates.    He    wore   a   greasy  cap 
on  the  back  of  his  head,  carpet  slip- 
pers,   and    a     short    white    blouse. 
When  he  had  five  sous,  he  had  his 
hair  curled.     He  danced  at  Constant's 
at    Montparnasse ;    bought    for    two 
sous  the  jack-of-hearts  or  the   ace- 
of-spades,  which  were  used  as  return 
checks,  to  resell  them  for  four  sous 
at  the  door  of  Bobino;  opened  car- 
riage-doors as  occasion  offered;  led 
about  sorry  nags  at  the  horse-market. 
Of  all  the  bad  luck  —  in  the  conscrip- 
tion he  drew  a  good  number.    Who 
knows    whether   the    atmosphere    of 
honor  which  is  breathed  in  a  regi- 
ment,    whether     military     discipline, 
might  not  have  saved  him?     Caught 
in  a  haul  of  the  police-net  with  the 
younger  vagabonds  who  used  to  rob 
the  drunkards  asleep  in  the  streets, 
he  denied  very  energetically  having 
taken   part  in  their   expeditions.    It 
was  perhaps  true.    But  his  anteced- 
ents were  accepted  in  lieu  of  proof, 
and  he  was  sent  up  for  three  years 
to    Poissy.    There   he   had   to   make 
rough  toys,  had  himself  tattooed  on 
the  chest,  and  learned  thieves'  slang 
and  the  penal  code.    A  new  libera- 
tion, a  new  plunge  into  the  Parisian 
sewer,  but  very  short  this  time,  for 
at  the  end  of  hardly  six  weeks  he 
was   again   compromised   in   a   theft 
by  night,  aggravated  by  violent  en- 
try,   a    doubtful    case    in    which    he 
played    an    obscure    role,    half    dupe 
and  half  fence.     On   the  whole,   his 


In  drawing  lots  for  military 
service  the  higher  num- 
bers give  exemption,  and 
this  he  secured  by  draw- 
ing "  a  good  number." 


A    receiver   of   stolen    goods. 


CHARACTER    STORIES 


377 


complicity  seemed  evident,  and  lie 
was  condemned  to  five  years'  hard 
labor.  His  sorrow  in  this  adventure 
was,  chiefly,  to  be  separated  from  an 
old  dog  which  he  had  picked  up  on 
a  heap  of  rubbish  and  cured  of  the 
mange.  This  beast  loved  him. 

11.  Toulon,  the  ball  on  his  ankle, 
the  work   in  the  harbor,   the  blows 
from   the   staves,   the   wooden   shoes 
without    straw,    the    soup    of    black 
beans     dating     from     Trafalgar,    no 
money  for  tobacco,  and  the  horrible 
sleep  on  the  filthy  camp-bed  of  the 
galley   slave,   that   is  what  he  knew 
for  five  torrid  summers  and  five  win- 
ters blown  upon  by  the  Mistral.    He 
came   out    from   there   stunned,   and 
was  sent  under  surveillance  to  Ver- 
non,  where  he  worked  for  some  time 
on    the    river;   then,    an    incorrigible 
vagabond,    he    broke    exile    and    re- 
turned again  to  Paris. 

12.  He    had    his    savings,    fifty-six 
francs —  that  is  to  say,  time  enough 
to  reflect.     During  his  long  absence, 
his   old   and   horrible  comrades   had 
been  dispersed.    He  was  well  hidden, 
and  slept  in  a  loft  at  an  old  woman's, 
to  whom  he  had  represented  himself 
as  a  sailor  weary  of  the  sea,  having 
lost  his  papers  in  a  recent  shipwreck, 
and    who    wished    to    essay    another 
trade.     His  tanned  face,  his  calloused 
hands,  and  a  few  nautical  terms  he 
let   fall   one  time   or   another,  made 
this  story  sufficiently  probable. 

13.  One  day  when  he  had  risked  a 
saunter  along  the  streets,  and  when 


Straw    was    stuffed    into    the 
sabots  to  cushion  the  feet. 


The     northwest      storm-wind 
from  the  Mediterranean. 


378  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

the  chance  of  his  walk  had  brought 
him  to  Montmartre,  where  he  had 
been  born,  an  unexpected  memory 
arrested  him  before  the  door  of  the 
Brothers'  school  in  which  he  had 
learned  to  read.  Since  it  was  very 
warm,  the  door  was  open,  and  with 
a  single  glance  the  passing  incor- 
rigible could  recognize  the  peaceful 
schoolroom.  Nothing  was  changed: 
neither  the  bright  light  shining  in 
through  the  large  windows,  nor  the 
crucifix  over  the  desk,  nor  the  rows 
of  seats  furnished  with  leaden  ink- 
stands, nor  the  table  of  weights  and 
measures,  nor  the  map  on  which 
pins  stuck  in  still  pointed  out  the 
operations  of  some  ancient  war. 
Heedlessly  and  without  reflecting, 
Jean  Frangois  read  on  the  black- 
board these  words  of  the  Gospel, 
which  a  well-trained  hand  had  traced 
as  an  example  of  penmanship: 

Joy  shall  be  in  heaven  over  one  sinner 
that  repenteth,  more  than  over  ninety  and 
nine  just  persons  which  need  no  repentance. 

14.  It  was  doubtless  the  hour  for 
recreation,  for  the  Brother  professor 
had  left  his  chair,  and,  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  a  table,  he  seemed  to  be 
telling  a  story  to  all  the  gamins  who 
surrounded  him,  attentive  and  rais- 
ing their  eyes.  What  an  innocent 
and  gay  countenance  was  that  of  the 
beardless  young  man,  in  long  black 
robe,  with  white  necktie,  with  coarse, 
ugly  shoes,  and  with  badly  cut  brown 
hair  pushed  up  at  the  back.  All 
those  pallid  faces  of  children  of  the 


CHARACTER   STORIES  379 


populace  which  were  looking  at  him 
seemed  less  childlike  than  his,  above 
all  when,  charmed  with  a  candid, 
priestly  pleasantry  he  had  made,  he 
broke  out  with  a  good  and  frank  peal 
of  laughter,  which  showed  his  teeth 
sound  and  regular  —  laughter  so  con- 
tagious that  all  the  scholars  broke 
out  noisily  in  their  turn.  And  it  was 
simple  and  sweet,  this  group  in  the 
joyous  sunlight  that  made  their  clear 
eyes  and  their  blonde  hair  shine. 

15.  Jean    Francois    looked    at    the 
scene  some  time  in  silence,  and,  for 
the  first  time,  in  that  savage  nature 
all  instinct  and  appetite,  there  awoke 
a    mysterious    and    tender    emotion. 
His  heart,  that  rude,  hardened  heart, 
which  neither  the  cudgel  of  the  gal- 
ley-master   nor    the    weight    of    the 
watchman's  heavy  whip  falling  on  his 
shoulders  was  able  to  stir,  beat  almost 
to  bursting.     Before  this  spectacle,  in 
which   he   saw   again   his   childhood, 
his  eyes  closed  sadly,  and,  restraining 
a  violent  gesture,  a  prey  to  the  tor- 
ture of  regret,  he  walked  away  with 
great  strides. 

16.  The     words     written     on     the 
blackboard  came  back  to  him. 

17.  "If  it  were  not  too  late,  after 
all ! "    he    murmured.    "  If    I    could 
once   more,   like  the  others,  eat  my 
toasted  bread  honestly,  sleep  out  my 
sleep  without  nightmare?    The  police 
spy  would  be  very  clever  to  recognize 
me  now.     My  beard,  that  I  shaved  off 
down  there,  has  grown  out  now  thick 
and  strong.     One  can  borrow  some- 


380  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

where  in  this  big  ant-heap,  and  work 
is  not  lacking.  Whoever  does  not  go 
to  pieces  soon  in  the  hell  of  the  gal- 
leys comes  out  agile  and  robust;  and 
I  have  learned  how  to  climb  the  rope- 
ladders  with  loads  on  my  back. 
Building  is  going  on  all  around  here, 
and  the  masons  need  helpers.  Three 
francs  a  day, —  I  have  never  earned 
so  much.  That  they  should  forget 
me,  that  is  all  I  ask." 

18.  He    followed    his    courageous 
resolution,  he  was  faithful  to  it,  and 
three  months  afterward  he  was  an- 
other  man.    The   master   for   whom 
he  labored  cited  him  as  his  best  work- 
man.   After  a  long  day  passed  on  the 
scaffolding,   in   the   full    sun,   in   the 
dust,  constantly  bending  and  straight- 
ening  his   back   to   take   the    stones 
from  the  hands  of  the  man  below  him 
and  to  pass  them  to  the  man  above 
him,  he  went  to  get  his  soup,  at  the 
cheap  eating  house,  tired  out,  his  legs 
numb,  his  hands  burning,  and  his  eye- 
lashes stuck  together  by  the  plaster, 
but  content  with  himself,  and  carry- 
ing his  well-earned  money  in  the  knot 
of   his   handkerchief.    He   went   out 
without    fear,    for    his    white    mask 
made  him  unrecognizable,  and,  then, 
he  had  observed  that  the  suspicious 
glance  of  the  policeman  seldom  falls 
on  the  real  worker.    He  was  silent 
and  sober.    He  slept  the  sound  sleep 
of  honest  fatigue.    He  was  free. 

19.  At  last  —  supreme  recompense  I 
—  he  had  a  friend. 


CHARACTER   STORIES  381 


20.  It   was   a   mason's   helper   like 
himself,  named  Savinien,  a  little  peas- 
ant from  Limoges,  red-cheeked,  who 
had  come  to  Paris  with  his  stick  over 
his  shoulder  and  his  bundle  on  the 
end  of  it,  who  fled  from  the  liquor- 
dealers  and  went  to  mass  on  Sundays. 
Jean    Frangois    loved    him    for    his 
piety,  for  his  candor,  for  his  honesty, 
for  all  that  he  himself  had  lost,  and 
so  long  ago.     It  was  a  passion  pro- 
found,  reserved,   disclosing   itself  in 
the  care  and  forethought  of  a  father. 
Savinien,  himself  easily  moved   and 
self-loving,     let     things     take     their 
course,  satisfied  only  in  that  he  had 
found  a  comrade  who  shared  his  hor- 
ror    of     the     wine-shop.    The     two 
friends  lived  together  in  a  furnished 
room,  fairly  clean,  but  their  resources 
were  very  limited;  they  had  to  take 
into  their  room  a  third  companion,  an 
old  man  from  Auvergne,  sombre  and 
rapacious,    who     found     a    way    of 
economizing  out  of  his  meagre  wages 
enough  to  buy  some  land  in  his  own 
province. 

21.  Jean     Francois     and     Savinien 
scarcely  left  each  other.    On  days  of 
rest  they  took  long  walks  in  the  en- 
virons of  Paris  and  dined  in  the  open 
air  in  one  of  those  little  country  inns 
where  there  are  plenty  of  mushrooms 
in  the  sauces  and  innocent  enigmas 
on  the  bottoms  of  the  plates.     There 
Jean   Frangois   made   his   friend   tell 
him  all  those  things  of  which  those 
born  in  the  cities  are  ignorant.    He 
learned  the  names  of  the  trees,  the 


382  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

flowers,  the  plants;  the  seasons  for 
the  different  harvests;  he  listened 
avidly  to  the  thousand  details  of  a 
farmer's  labors :  the  autumn's  sowing, 
the  winter's  work,  the  splendid  fetes 
of  harvest-home  and  vintage,  and  the 
flails  beating  the  ground,  and  the 
noise  of  the  mills  by  the  borders  of 
the  streams,  and  the  tired  horses  led 
to  the  trough,  and  the  morning  hunt- 
ing in  the  mists,  and,  above  all,  the 
long  evenings  around  the  fire  of  vine- 
branches,  shortened  by  tales  of  won- 
der. He  discovered  in  himself  a 
spring  of  imagination  hitherto  un- 
suspected, finding  a  singular  delight 
in  the  mere  recital  of  these  things, 
so  gentle,  calm,  and  monotonous. 

22.  One  anxiety  troubled  him,  how- 
ever, that  Savinien  should  not  come 
to  know  his  past.     Sometimes  there 
escaped  him  a  shady  word  of  thieves' 
slang,  an  ignoble  gesture,  vestiges  of 
his    horrible    former    existence;    and 
then  he  felt  the  pain  of  a  man  whose 
old  wounds  reopen,  more  especially  as 
he  thought  he  saw  then  in  Savinien 
the     awakening     of     an     unhealthy 
curiosity.     When  the  young  man,  al- 
ready tempted  by  the  pleasures  which 
Paris    offers    even    to    the    poorest, 
questioned  him  about  the  mysteries  of 
the  great  city,  Jean  Francois  feigned 
ignorance  and  turned   the  conversa- 
tion;  but   he   had   now   conceived   a 
vague   inquietude   for   the   future   of 
his  friend. 

23.  This   was  not  without  founda- 
tion, and  Savinien  could  not  long  re- 


CHARACTER   STORIES  383 


main  the  naive  rustic  he  had  been  on 
his  arrival  in  Paris.  If  the  gross  and 
noisy  pleasures  of  the  wine-shop  al- 
ways were  repugnant  to  him,  he  was 
profoundly  troubled  by  other  desires 
full  of  danger  for  the  inexperience 
of  his  twenty  years.  When  the 
spring  came,  he  began  to  seek 
solitude,  and  at  first  he  wandered  be- 
fore the  gayly  lighted  entrances  to 
the  dancing-halls,  through  which  he 
saw  the  girls  going  in  couples,  with- 
out bonnets  —  and  with  their  arms 
around  each  other's  waists,  whisper- 
ing low.  Then,  one  evening,  when 
the  lilacs  shed  their  perfume,  and  the 
appeal  of  the  quadrilles  was  more  en- 
trancing, he  crossed  the  threshold, 
and  after  that  Jean  Frangois  saw  him 
change  little  by  little  in  manners  and 
in  visage.  Savinien  became  more 
frivolous,  more  extravagant ;  often  he 
borrowed  from  his  friend  his  miser- 
able savings,  which  he  forgot  to  re- 
pay. Jean  Francois,  feeling  himself 
abandoned,  was  both  indulgent  and 
jealous;  he  suffered  and  kept  silent. 
He  did  not  think  he  had  the  right  to 
reproach ;  but  his  penetrating  friend- 
ship had  cruel  and  insurmountable 
presentiments. 

24.  One  evening  when  he  was 
climbing  the  stairs  of  his  lodging,  ab- 
sorbed in  his  preoccupations,  he 
heard  in  the  room  he  was  about  to 
enter  a  dialogue  of  irritated  voices, 
and  he  recognized  one  as  that  of  the 
old  man  from  Auvergne,  who  lodged 
with  him  and  Savinien.  An  old 


384  STUDYING  THE  SHORT-STORY 

habit  of  suspicion  made  him  pause 
on  the  landing,  and  he  listened  to 
learn  the  cause  of  the  trouble. 

25.  "  Yes/'  said  the  man  from  Au- 
vergne  angrily,  "  I  am  sure  that  some 
one  has  broken  open  my  trunk  and 
stolen  the  three  louis  which  I  had  hid- 
den in  a  little  box ;  and  the  man  who 
has  done  this  thing  can  only  be  one  of 
the  two  companions  who  sleep  here, 
unless  it  is  Maria,  the  servant.  This 
concerns  you  as  much  as  me,  since 
you  are  the  master  of  the  house,  and 
I  will  drag  you  before  the  judge  if 
you  do  not  let  me  at  once  open  up 
the  valises  of  the  two  masons.  My 
poor  hoard !  It  was  in  its  place  only 
yesterday ;  and  I  will  tell  you  what  it 
was,  so  that,  if  we  find  it,  no  one  can 
accuse  me  of  lying.  Oh,  I  know 
them,  my  three  beautiful  gold  pieces, 
and  I  can  see  them  as  plainly  as  I  see 
you.  One  was  a  little  more  worn 
than  the  others,  of  a  slightly  greenish 
gold,  and  that  had  the  portrait  of  the 
great  Emperor;  another  had  that  of 
a  fat  old  fellow  with  a  queue  and 
epaulets;  and  the  third  had  a  Phil- 
ippe with  side-whiskers.  I  had  mark- 
ed it  with  my  teeth.  No  one  can  trick 
me,  not  me.  Do  you  know  that  I 
needed  only  two  others  like  those  to 
pay  for  my  vineyard?  Come  on,  let 
us  look  through  the  things  of  these 
comrades,  or  I  will  call  the  police. 
Make  haste ! " 

26.  "  All  right,"  said  the  voice  of 
the  householder ;  "  we'll  search  with 
Maria.  So  much  the  worse  if  you 


CHARACTER   STORIES  385 


find  nothing,  and  if  the  masons  get 
angry.  It  is  you  who  have  forced  me 
to  it." 

27.  Jean  Frangois  felt  his  heart  fill 
with   fear.    He   recalled   the  poverty 
and  the  petty  borrowings  of  Savinien, 
the  sombre  manner  he  had  borne  the 
last  few  days.    Yet  he  could  not  be- 
lieve   in    any    theft.     He    heard    the 
panting  of  the  man  from  Auvergne 
in  the  ardor  of  his  search,  and  he 
clenched  his  fists  against  his  breast  as 
if  to  repress  the  beatings  of  his  heart. 

28.  "  There    they    are  !  "    suddenly 
screamed      the      victorious      miser. 
"  There  they  are,  my  louis,  my  dear 
treasure !     And  in  the  Sunday  waist- 
coat   of    the    little    hypocrite    from 
Limoges.     Look,    landlord !    they  are 
just  as  I  told  you.     There's  the  Na- 
poleon, and  the  man  with  the  queue, 
and  the   Philippe  I  had  dented  with 
my   teeth.     Look  at   the   mark.    Ah, 
the  little  rascal  with  his.  saintly  look ! 
I  should  more  likely  have  suspected 
the  other.    Ah,  the  villain!    He  will 
have  to  go  to  the  galleys !  " 

29.  At  this  moment  Jean  Frangois 
heard  the  well-known  step  of  Savin- 
ien,  who   was    slowly   mounting  the 
stairs. 

30.  "  He  is  going  to  his  betrayal," 
thought  he.    "Three  flights.     I  have 
time !  " 

31.  And,  pushing  open  the  door,  he 
entered,  pale  as  death,  into  the  room 
where  he  saw  the  landlord  and  the 
stupefied    servant    in    a    corner,    and 
the  man  from  Auvergne  on  his  knees 


386  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

amid  the  disordered  clothes,  lovingly 
kissing  his  gold  pieces. 

32.  "  Enough  of  this,"  he  said  in  a 
thick  voice.    "  It  is  I  who  have  taken 
the  money  and  who  have  put  it  in 
my  comrade's  trunk.     But  that  is  too 
disgusting.     I  am  a  thief  and  not  a 
Judas.    Go  hunt  for  the  police.    I'll 
not  try  to  save  myself.     Only,  I  must 
say  a  word  in  private  to   Savinien, 
who  is  here." 

33.  The  little  man   from   Limoges 
had,  in  fact,  just  arrived,  and,  seeing 
his   crime   discovered,   and   believing 
himself  lost,  he  stood  still,  his  eyes 
fixed,  his  arms  drooping. 

34.  Jean  Francois  seized  him  vio- 
lently about  the  neck  as  though  to 
embrace  him;  he  pressed  his  mouth 
to  Savinien's  ear  and  said  to  him  in 
a  voice  low  and  supplicating: 

35-  "Be -quiet!" 

36.  Then,  turning  to  the  others: 

37.  "  Leave  me  alone  with  him.    I 
shall  not  go  away,  I  tell  you.     Shut 
us    up,    if   you    wish,    but    leave    us 
alone." 

38.  And,   with   a   gesture   of  com- 
mand,   he    showed    them    the    door. 
They  went  out. 

39.  Savinien,  broken  with  anguish, 
had    seated    himself   on    a   bed,    and 
dropped    his    eyes    without    compre- 
hending. 

40.  "Listen,"    said   Jean    Francois, 
who  approached   to  take   his   hands. 
"  I  understand  you  have  stolen  three 
gold  pieces  to  buy  some  trifle  for  a 
girl.    That     would     have     cost     six 


CHARACTER   STORIES  387 


months  of  prison  for  you.  But  one 
does  not  get  out  of  that  except  to  go 
back  again,  and  you  would  have  be- 
come a  pillar  of  the  police  tribunals 
and  the  courts  of  assizes.  I  know 
all  about  them.  I  have  done  seven 
years  in  the  Reform  School,  one  year 
at  Sainte-Pelagie,  three  years-  at 
Poissy,  and  five  years  at  Toulon. 
Now,  have  no  fear.  All  is  arranged. 
I  have  taken  this  affair  on  my  shoul- 
ders." 

41.  "Unhappy  fellow!"  cried   Sa- 
vinien;  but  hope  was  already  coming 
back  to  bis  cowardly  heart. 

42.  "When    the    elder    brother    is 
serving  under  the  colors,  the  younger 
does  not  go,"  Jean  Francois  went  on. 
"  I'm  your  substitute,  that's  all.    You 
love  me  a  little,  do  you  not?    I  am 
paid.    Do  not  be  a  baby.    Do  not  re- 
fuse.   They   would  have  caught   me 
one  of  these  days,  for  I  have  broken 
my  exile.    And  then,  you  see,  that  life 
out  there  will  be  less  hard  for  me 
than  for  you ;  I  know  it,  and  shall  not 
complain    if    I    do    not   render    you 
this  service  in  vain  and  if  you  swear 
to  me  that  you  will  not  do  it  again. 
Savinien,  I  have  loved  you  well,  and 
your   friendship   has  made   me   very 
happy,  for  it  is  thanks  to  my  know- 
ing you  that  I  have  kept  honest  and 
straight,  as  I  might  have  been,  per- 
haps, if  I  had  had,  like  you,  a  fath- 
er to  put  a  tool  in  my  hands,  a  moth- 
er to  teach  me  my  prayers.     My-  only 
regret  was  that  I  was  useless  to  you 
and  that  I  was  deceiving  you  about 


3^8  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

my  past.  To-day  I  lay  aside  the 
mask  in  saving  you.  It  is  all  right. 
Come,  good-bye!  Do  not  weep;  and 
embrace  me,  for  already  I  hear  the 
big  boots  on  the  stairs.  They  are 
returning  with  the  police;  and  we 
must  not  seem  to  know  each  other 
so  well  before  these  fellows." 

43.  He  pressed  Savinien  hurriedly 
to   his    breast,   and   then   he    pushed 
him  away  as  the  door  opened  wide. 

44.  It    was    the    landlord    and    the 
man     from     Auvergne,     who     were 
bringing   the    police.    Jean    Francois 
started   forward   to  the  landing  and 
held  out  his  hands  for  the  handcuffs 
and  said,  laughing: 

45.  "  Forward,  bad  lot !  " 

46.  To-day  he  is  at  Cayenne,  con- 
demned for  life,  as  an  incorrigible. 

SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY 

1.  Write  a  paragraph  showing  how  character  is  affected   (a) 
unfavorably  and    (b)    favorably  by  the  two  tests,  as  shown  by 
these  two  stories. 

2.  In   your   opinion,   was    each    character   changed   or   merely 
revealed  by  the  crisis  which  occurred  in  each  instance? 

3.  Which  of  these  stories  seems  the  more  real  to  you? 

4.  Have  you  ever  heard  of  a  similar  instance  in  real  life?     If 
so,  cite  it. 

5.  Write  a  paragraph  contrasting  the  trivial  and  the  important 
crisis  in  each  story,  though  both  led  to  important  results. 

6.  Set  down  all  the  traits  of  character  exhibited  by  the  two 
leading  actors  in  each  story. 

7.  Select  a  character-study  from  some  book  or  magazine  and 
write  a  brief  discussion  of  it. 

8.  Do  the  same  for  another  character-study  by   (a)   Maupas- 
sant, and  (b)  Coppee. 


CHARACTER   STORIES  3&) 


TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  CHARACTER  STUDIES 

"  The  Captain's  Vices,"  Frangois  Coppee,  translated  in 
Ten  Tales  by  Coppee. 

"  The  Incarnation  of  Krishna  Mtilvaney,"  Rudyard  Kip- 
ling, in  Soldiers  Three. 

"  A  New  England  Nun,"  Mary  E.  Wilkins  Freeman,  in 
volume  of  same  title. 

"  The  Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black  Stock,"  Thomas  Nel- 
son Page,  Harper's  Magazine,  Oct.,  1894. 

"The  Sick-a-Bed  Lady,"  Eleanor  Hallowell  Abbott,  in 
volume  of  same  title. 

"  The  Insurgent,"  Ludovic  Halevy,  translated  in  Short- 
Story  Masterpieces. 

"  Caybigan,"  James  Hopper,  in  volume  of  same  title. 

"  The  Liar,"  Henry  James,  in  Short-Story  Classics, 
American. 

"  Editha,"  W.  D.  Howells,  in  Harper's  Novelettes. 

"  Our  Sermon  Taster,"  Ian  Maclaren,  in  Beside  the 
Bonnie  Briar  Bush. 


VIII 
PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDIES 

Markheim, —  ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON 
On  the  Stairs. —  ARTHUR  MORRISON 


He  [the  author]  can  sometimes  rouse  our  intense  curiosity 
and  eagerness  by  the  mere  depiction  of  a  psychological  state,  as 
Walter  Pater  has  done  in  the  case  of  Sebastian  Storck  and  other 
personages  of  his  Imaginary  Portraits.  The  fact  that  "nothing 
happens "  in  stories  of  this  kind  may  be  precisely  what  most 
interests  us,  because  we  are  made  to  understand  what  it  is  that 
inhibits  action. —  Buss  PERRY,  A  Study  of  Prose  Fiction. 


392 


PSYCHOLOGICAL  STUDIES 

A  subtle  distinction  is  to  be  observed  between  the  char- 
acter-study and  the  psychological  study,  but  it  will  not 
be  supposed  that  writers  of  short-stories  plainly  label  the 
distinction,  or  that  the  two  types  are  frequently,  if  ever, 
found  entirely  separate.  In  the  character-study  more 
attention  is  paid  to  the  true  natures  of  the  actors,  and 
the  demonstration  of  their  natures  is  shown  in  the  action 
of  the  story;  in  the  psychological  study  more  stress  is 
laid  upon  the  actual  operation  of  thought,  feeling  and 
purpose  —  it  is  a  laboratory  study  of  what  goes  on  in  the 
human  heart,  to  use  a  somewhat  vague  but  necessary 
term,  under  stress  of  crisis. 

The  psychological  study  is  the  most  difficult  because 
the  most  penetrating  of  all  short-story  forms,  and  in  con- 
sequence the  most  rare  in  its  perfect  presentation.  To 
show  the  processes  of  reasoning,  the  interplay  of  motive, 
the  power  of  feeling  acting  upon  feeling,  and  the  intri- 
cate combinations  of  these,  calls  for  the  most  clear- 
sighted understanding  of  man,  and  the  utmost  skill  in 
literary  art,  lest  the  story  be  lost  in  a  fog  of  tiresome 
analysis  and  discussion.  In  "  Markheim  "  and  "  On  the 
Stairs,"  two  master  story-tellers  are  easily  at  their  best, 
for  they  never  obtrude  their  own  opinions,  but  swiftly  and 

393 


394 


STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 


with  a  firm  onward  movement  the  stories  disclose  the 
true  inward  workings  of  the  unique  characters,  while 
from  mood,  speech,  and  action  we  infallibly  infer  all  the 
soul-processes  by  which  their  conclusions  are  reached. 

MARKHEIM 

BY  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 


"  Yes,"  said  the  dealer,  "  our  wind- 
falls are  of  various  kinds.  Some 
customers  are  ignorant,  and  then  I 
touch  a  dividend  on  my  superior 
knowledge.  Some  are  dishonest," 
and  here  he  held  up  the  candle,  so 
that  the  light  fell*  strongly  on  his 
visitor,  "and  in  that  case,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  I  profit  by  my  virtue." 

2.  Markheim  had  but  just  entered 
from    the    daylight    streets,    and    his 
eyes  had  not  yet  grown  familiar  with 
the  mingled  shine  and  darkness  in  the 
shop.    At  these  pointed  words,  and 
before  the  near  presence  of  the  flame, 
he  blinked  painfully  and  looked  aside. 

3.  The      dealer      chuckled.    "You 
come  to  me  on   Christmas-day,"   he 
resumed,  "  when  you  know  that  I  am 
alone  in  my  house,  put  up  my  shut- 
ters,  and   make  a  point  of  refusing 
business.     Well,  you  will  have  to  pay 
for  that ;  you  will  have  to  pay  for  my 
loss  of  time,  when  I  should  be  balanc- 
ing my  books ;  you  will  have  to  pay, 
besides,  for  a  kind  of  manner  that  I 
remark  in  you  to-day  very  strongly. 
I  am  the  essence  of  discretion,  and 


INTRODUCTION. 

Remarkable  because  it  at 
once  touches  upon  the  ex- 
ternal crisis  of  the  story. 


Note  double  reason. 


See  how  daringly  the  author 
plays  with  the  reader  with- 
out arousing  suspicion. 
Compare  Stevenson's  rea- 
soning as  to  the  reader's 
suspicions  with  Dupin's 
reasoning  in  "  The  Pur- 
loined Letter,"  pp.  91, 
93. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


395 


ask  no  awkward  questions ;  but  when 
a  customer  can  not  look  me  in  the 
eye,  he  has  to  pay  for  it."  The 
dealer  once  more  chuckled ;  and  then, 
changing  to  his  usual  business  voice, 
though  still  with  a  note  of  irony, 
"  You  can  give,  as  usual,  a  clean  ac- 
count of  how  you  came  into  posses- 
sion of  the  object?"  he  continued. 
"Still  your  uncle's  cabinet?  A  re- 
markable collector,  sir !  " 

4.  And  the  little,  pale,  round-shoul- 
dered dealer  stood  almost  on  tip-toe, 
looking    over    the    top    of    his    gold 
spectacles,  and  nodding  his  head  with 
every  mark  of  disbelief.    Markheim 
returned  his  gaze  with  one  of  infinite 
pity,  and  a  touch  of  horror. 

5.  "This  time,"  he  said,  "you  are 
in  error.     I  have  not  come  to  sell,  but 
to  buy.     I  have  no  curios  to  dispose 
of;  my  uncle's  cabinet  is  bare  to  the 
wainscot;  even  were  it  still  intact,  I 
have    done   well   on   the    Stock    Ex- 
change, and  should  more  likely  add 
to  it  than  otherwise,  and  my  errand 
to-day  is  simplicity  itself.    I  seek  a 
Christmas-present    for    a    lady,"    he 
continued,  waxing1  more  fluent  as  he 
struck  into  the   speech   he  had  pre- 
pared ;    "  and    certainly    I    owe    you 
every  excuse  for  thus  disturbing  you 
upon    so    small    a    matter..    But    the 
thing  was  neglected  yesterday ;  I  must 
produce  my  little  compliment  at  din- 
ner;   and,   as   you    very    well   know, 
a  rich  marriage  is  not  a  thing  to  be 
neglected." 


Markheim     has     been     ther« 
before. 


Forecast. 


Insincerity    evident. 


396 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


6.  There  followed  a  pause,  during 
which   the   dealer   seemed   to   weigh 
this     statement     incredulously.     The 
ticking   of  many   clocks   among   the 
curious  lumber  of  the  shop,  and  the 
faint  rushing  of  the  cabs  in  a  near 
thoroughfare,  filled  up  the  interval  of 
silence. 

7.  "  Well,  sir,"  said  the  dealer,  "  be 
it  so.    You  are  an  old  customer  after 
all;  and  if,  as  you  say,  you  have  the 
chance  of  a  good   marriage,   far   be 
it  from  me  to  be  an  obstacle.    Here 
is  a  nice  thing  for  a  lady  now,"  he 
went  on,  "this  hand-glass  —  fifteenth 
century,    warranted;    comes    from    a 
good   collection,   too ;   but   I   reserve 
the  name,  in  the  interests  of  my  cus- 
tomer,  who   was   just   like   yourself, 
my  dear  sir,  the  nephew  and  sole  heir 
of  a  remarkable  collector." 

8.  The  dealer,  while  he  thus  ran  on 
in    his    dry    and    biting    voice,    had 
stooped  to  take  the  object  from  its 
place ;    and,   as   he    had    done    so,    a 
shock  had  passed  through  Markheim, 
a  start  both  of  hand  and  foot,  a  sud- 
den  leap   of  many   tumultuous   pas- 
sions    to    the     face.     It    passed     as 
swiftly  as  it  came,  and  left  no  trace 
beyond    a    certain    trembling   of    the 
hand  that  now  received  the  glass. 

9.  "  A  glass,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  and 
then   paused,    and    repeated    it   more 
clearly.     "A  glass?     For  Christmas? 
Surely  not?" 

10.  "And    why    not?"    cried    the 
dealer.     "  Why  not  a  glass  ?  " 

11.  Markheim    was    looking    upon 


Compare  this  setting,  as  it 
is  gradually  unfolded, 
with  that  of  Gautier's 
"  The  Mummy's  Foot." 


Analyse  its  nature. 


Contributory  incident. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


397 


him  with  an  indefinable  expression. 
"You  ask  me  why  not?"  he  said. 
"  Why,  look  here  —  look  in  it  —  look 
at  yourself!  Do  you  like  to  see  it? 
No !  nor  I  —  nor  any  man." 

12.  The  little  man  had  jumped  back 
when    Markheim    had    so    suddenly 
confronted  him  with  the  mirror;  but 
now,    perceiving   there    was    nothing 
worse  on  hand,  he  chuckled.    "  Your 
future  lady,  sir,  must  be  pretty  hard 
favoured,"   said   he. 

13.  "  I    ask   you,"    said   Markheim, 
"  for    a    Christmas-present,    and   you 
give  me  this  —  this  damned  reminder 
of  years,  and  sins  and  follies  —  this 
hand-conscience!     Did  you  mean  it? 
Had  you   a  thought  in  your   mind? 
Tell  me.     It  will  be  better   for  you 
if  you  do.     Come,  tell  me  about  your- 
self.    I    hazard    a    guess    now,    that 
you   are  in  secret  a  very  charitable 
man?  " 

14.  The    dealer    looked    closely    at 
his    companion.     It    was    very    odd, 
Markheim  did  not  appear  to  be  laugh- 
ing; there  was  something  in  his  face 
like   an   eager   sparkle   of   hope,   but 
nothing  of   mirth. 

15.  "What   are   you    driving   at?" 
the  dealer  asked. 

16.  "Not  charitable?"  returned  the 
other,     gloomily.     "  Not     charitable ; 
not  pious;  not  scrupulous;  unloving, 
unbeloved;  a  hand  to  get  money,  a 
safe  to  keep  it.    Is  that  all?    Dear 
God,  man,  is  that  all?" 

17.  "  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,"  be- 
gan the  dealer,  with  some  sharpness, 


Forecast. 


Note  the  working  of  Mark- 
heim's  morbid  conscience, 
not  yet  understood  by 
himself. 


FIRST  MORAL  CRISIS. 


398 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


and  then  broke  off  again  into  a 
chuckle.  "But  I  see  this  is  a  love 
match  of  yours,  and  you  have  been 
drinking  the  lady's  health." 

18.  "  Ah !  "  cried  Markheim,  with  a 
strange    curiosity.    "Ah,    have    you 
been  in  love  ?    Tell  me  about  that." 

19.  "  I,"    cried    the    dealer.    "  I   in 
love!    I    never    had    the    time,    nor 
have  I  the  time  to-day  for  all  this 
nonsense.    Will  you  take  the  glass  ?  " 

20.  "Where    is    the    hurry?"    re- 
turned Markheim.    "  It  is  very  pleas- 
ant to  stand  here  talking;  and  life  is 
so  short  and  insecure  that  I  would  not 
hurry  away  from  any  pleasure  — no, 
not  even  from  so  mild  a  one  as  this. 
We    should    rather    cling,    cling    to 
what  little  we  can  get,  like  a  man 
at   a   cliff's   edge.    Every   second    is 
a  cliff,  if  you  think  upon  it  —  a  cliff 
a    mile    high  —  high    enough,    if    we 
fall,  to  dash  us  out  of  every  feature 
of  humanity.     Hence  it  is  best  to  talk 
pleasantly.     Let     us     talk     of     each 
other;    why    should    we    wear    this 
mask?    Let  us  be  confidential.    Who 
knows,  we  might  become  friends?" 

21.  "  I  have  just  one  word  to  say  to 
you,"  said  the  dealer.     "  Either  make 
your  purchase,   or   walk  out   of  my 
shop." 

22.  "True,   true,"   said   Markheim. 
"Enough       fooling.    To       business. 
Show  me  something  else." 

23.  The  dealer  stooped  once  more, 
this   time  to  replace  the  glass  upon 
the     shelf,     his     thin     blonde     hair 
falling  over  his  eyes  as  he  did   so. 


Note   change   of   attitude, 


Analyse    the    forces    back    of 
Markheim's   parleying. 


Note  how  quickly  Markheim 
follows  the  unconscious 
lead. 

FIRST  EXTERNAL   CRISIS. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


399 


Markheim  moved  a  little  nearer,  with 
one  hand  in  the  pocket  of  his  great- 
coat; he  drew  himself  up  and  filled 
his  lungs ;  at  the  same  time  many 
different  emotions  were  depicted  to- 
gether on  his  face  —  terror,  horror 
and  resolve,  fascination  and  a  physi- 
cal repulsion;  and  through  a  haggard 
lift  of  his  upper  lip,  his  teeth  looked 
out. 

24.  "  This,  perhaps,  may  suit,"  ob- 
served  the  dealer;  and   then,  as  he 
began  to  re-arise,  Markheim  bounded 
from  behind    upon   his   victim.    The 
long,  skewerlike  dagger  flashed  and 
fell.     The  dealer  struggled  like  a  hen, 
striking  his  temple  on  the  shelf,  and 
then  tumbled  on  the  floor  in  a  heap. 

25.  Time  had  some  score  of  small 
voices  in  that  shop,  some  stately  and 
slow  as  was  becoming  to  their  great 
age;    others   garrulous   and    hurried. 
All  these  told  out  the  seconds  in  an 
intricate    chorus    of    tickings.    Then 
the  passage  of  a  lad's  feet,  heavily 
running  on  the  pavement,  broke  in 
upon  these  smaller  voices  and  star- 
tled   Markheim    into    the    conscious- 
ness of  his  surroundings.    He  looked 
about  him  awfully.    The  candle  stood 
on   the    counter,    its    flame   solemnly 
wagging  in  a  draught;  and  by  that 
inconsiderable  movement,  the  whole 
room  was  filled  with  noiseless  bustle 
and    kept   heaving    like    a    sea:    the 
tall  shadows  nodding,  the  gross  blots 
of  darkness   swelling  and  dwindling 
as  with  respiration,  the  faces  of  the 
portraits  and  the  china  gods  chang- 


Note  all   these. 


He    was    prepared    for    tie 
crime. 


FIRST  MINOR  CLIMAX. 

Beginning  of  the  internal 
action.  Note  how  all  ex- 
ternal things  now  begin  to 
play  upon  the  internal 
man. 


Throughout,  note  Steven- 
son's rich  imagery,  and 
also  his  unusual  vocabu- 
lary. 


4oo 


STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 


ing  and  wavering  like  images  in  wa- 
ter. The  inner  door  stood  ajar,  and 
peered  into  that  leaguer  of  shadows 
with  a  long  slit  of  daylight  like  a 
pointing  finger. 

26.  From   these    fear-stricken   rov- 
ings,    Markheim's    eyes    returned    to 
the  body  of  his  victim,  where  it  lay 
both  humped  and  sprawling,  incredi- 
bly small  and  strangely  meaner  than 
in     life.     In     these     poor,     miserly 
clothes,  in  that  ungainly  attitude,  the 
dealer    lay    like    so    much    sawdust. 
Markheim  had  feared  to  see  it,  and, 
lo!  it  was  nothing.    And  yet,  as  he 
gazed,  this  bundle  of  old  clothes  and 
pool  of  blood  began  to  find  eloquent 
voices.    There  it  must  lie ;  there  was 
none    to    work    the    cunning    hinges 
or  direct  the  miracle  of  locomotion 
—  there  it  must  lie  till  it  was  found. 
Found!  ay,  and  then?    Then  would 
this    dead    flesh   lift    up    a    cry    that 
would    ring    over    England,    and    fill 
the  world   with  the  echoes  of  pur- 
suit.   Ay,  dead,  or  not,  this  was  still 
the   enemy.    "  Time   was   that  when 
the   brains   were   out,"   he   thought; 
and  the   first   word   struck    into  his 
mind.    Time,  now  that  the  deed  was 
accomplished  —  time,       which       had 
closed    for    the    victim,    had   become 
instant  and  momentous  for  the  slay- 
er. 

27.  The    thought    was    yet   in    his 
mind,  when,  first  one  and  then  an- 
other,   with    every    variety    of  pace 
and    voice  —  one    deep    as    the    bell 
from    a    cathedral     turret,     another 


An  unusual  word. 


Picture. 


Evidence  of  premeditation. 


Note  the  interplay  of  the 
outward  picture  and  Mark- 
heim's mind.  Keep  before 
you  always  the  double 
movement  of  this  study  as 
both  progress  side  by  side, 
finally  resulting  in  the 
predominance  of  the  spir- 
itual. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


401 


ringing  on  its  treble  notes  the 
prelude  of  a  waltz  — the  clocks  be- 
gan to  strike  the  hour  of  three  in 
the  afternoon. 

28.  The  sudden  outbreak  of  so 
many  tongues  in  that  dumb  chamber 
staggered  him.  He  began  to  bestir 
himself,  going  to  and  fro  with  the 
candle,  beleaguered  by  moving 
shadows,  and  startled  to  the  soul 
by  chance  reflections.  In  many  rich 
mirrors,  some  of  home  designs,  some 
from  Venice  or  Amsterdam,  he  saw 
his  face  repeated  and  repeated,  as 
it  were  an  army  of  spies;  his  own 
eyes  met  and  detected  him;  and  the 
sound  of  his  own  steps,  lightly  as 
they  fell,  vexed  the  surrounding 
quiet.  And  still  as  he  continued  to 
fill  his  pockets,  his  mind  accused 
him,  with  a  sickening  iteration,  of 
the  thousand  faults  of  his  design. 
He  should  have  chosen  a  more  quiet 
hour;  he  should  have  prepared  an 
alibi;  he  should  not  have  used  a 
knife;  he  should  have  been  more 
cautious,  and  only  bound  and  gagged 
the  dealer,  and  not  killed  him;  he 
should  have  been  more  bold,  and 
killed  the  servant  also;  he  should 
have  done  all  things  otherwise; 
poignant  regrets,  weary,  incessant 
toiling  of  the  mind  to  change  what 
was  unchangeable,  to  plan  what  was 
now  useless,  to  be  the  architect  of 
the  irrevocable  past.  Meanwhile, 
and  behind  all  this  activity,  brute 
terrors,  like  scurrying  of  rats  in  a 
deserted  attic,  filled  the  more  re- 


The   old  motive   reasserts   it- 
self. 
PLOT   INCIDENT. 


As    fear    subsides    craft    re- 
turns. 


A     significant     expression- 
Contrast   physical   and    moral 

fear.     Consider     how     thr 

two  are  related 


402 


STUDYING   THE    SHORT-STORY 


mote  chambers  of  his  brain  with 
riot ;  the  hand  of  the  constable  would 
fall  heavy  on  his  shoulder,  and  his 
nerves  would  jerk  like  a  hooked 
fish;  or  he  beheld,  in  galloping  de- 
file, the  dock,  the  prison,  the  gallows, 
and  the  black  coffin. 

29.  Terror  of  the  people  in  the 
street  sat  down  before  his  mind  like 
a  besieging  army.  It  was  impossible, 
he  thought,  but  that  some  rumor  of 
the  struggle  must  have  reached  their 
ears  and  set  on  edge  their  curiosity; 
and  now,  in  all  the  neighboring 
houses,  he  divined  them  sitting  mo- 
tionless and  with  uplifted  ear  —  sol- 
itary people,  condemned  to  spend 
Christmas  dwelling  alone  on  memo- 
ries of  the  past,  and  now  startlingly 
recalled  from  that  tender  exercise; 
happy  family  parties,  struck  into 
silence  round  the  table,  the  mother 
still  with  raised  finger:  every  degree 
and  age  and  humor,  but  all,  by  their 
own  hearths,  prying  and  hearkening 
and  weaving  the  rope  that  was  to 
hang  him.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to 
him  he  could  not  move  too  softly; 
the  clink  of  the  tall  Bohemian  gob- 
lets rang  out  loudly  like  a  bell ;  and 
alarmed  by  the  bigness  of  the  tick- 
ing, he  was  tempted  to  stop  the 
clocks.  And  then,  again,  with  a 
swift  transition  of  his  terrors,  the 
very  silence  of  the  place  appeared  a 
source  of  peril,  and  a  thing  to  strike 
and  freeze  the  passerby;  and  he 
would  step  more  boldly,  and  bustle 
aloud  among  the  contents  of  the 


Note  the  primary  use  of  the 
word  "  rumor." 


Contrast. 


Study  of  fear. 
Impressionism. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


403 


shop,  and  imitate,  with  elaborate 
bravado,  the  movements  of  a  busy 
man  at  ease  in  his  own  house. 

30.  But    he    was    now    so    pulled 
about  by  different  alarms  that,  while 
one  portion    of   his    mind    was   still 
alert  and  cunning,  another  trembled 
on    the    brink   of   lunacy.    One   hal- 
lucination in  particular  took  a  strong 
hold  on  his  credulity.    The  neighbor 
hearkening   with    white    face    beside 
his    window,    the    passerby    arrested 
by  a  horrible   surmise  on  the  pave- 
ment—  these  could  at  worst  suspect, 
they   could   not   know ;    through   the 
brick   walls    and    shuttered   windows 
only    sounds    coutd    penetrate.     But 
here,  within  the  house,  was  he  alone? 
He  knew  he  was ;  he  had  watched 
the  servant  set   forth  sweethearting, 
in  her  poor  best,  "  out  for  the  day " 
written   in   every   ribbon   and   smile. 
Yes,  he   was  alone,   of  course;    and 
yet,    in    the    bulk    of    empty    house 
above  him,   he  could   surely  hear  a 
stir    of    delicate     footing  —  he    was 
surely    conscious,    inexplicably    con- 
scious of  some  presence.    Ay,  sure- 
ly; to  every  room  and  corner  of  the 
house    his    imagination    followed    it; 
and  now  it  was  a  faceless  thing,  and 
yet  had  eyes  to  see  with ;  and  again 
it  was  a  shadow  of  himself ;  and  yet 
again  behold  the  image  of  the  dead 
dealer,  reinspired  with  cunning  and 
hatred. 

31.  At  times,  with  a  strong  effort, 
he   would   glance   at  the   open   door 
which  still  seemed  to  repel  his  eyes. 


An  important  observation. 


Note  how   his   reasoning  be- 
comes hyper-acute. 


Forecast. 


404 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


The  house  was  tall,  the  skylight 
small  and  dirty,  the  day  blind  with 
fog;  and  the  light  that  filtered  down 
to  the  ground  story  was  exceedingly 
faint,  and  showed  dimly  on  the 
threshold  of  the  shop.  And  yet,  in 
that  strip  of  doubtful  brightness,  did 
there  not  hang  wavering  a  shadow? 

32.  Suddenly,  from  the  street  out- 
side, a  very  jovial  gentleman  began 
to    beat    with   a    staff   on   the   shop- 
door,    accompanying   his   blows    with 
shouts    and    railleries    in    which    the 
dealer    was    continually    called    upon 
by    name.     Markheim,    smitten    into 
ice,   glanced  at  the  dead  man.    But 
no!   he  lay  quite  still;  he  was  fled 
away    far   beyond    earshot    of    these 
blows  and   shoutings;   he   was   sunk 
beneath    seas    of    silence ;    and    his 
name,  which  would  once  have  caught 
his   notice   above   the   howling   of  a 
storm,  had  become  an  empty  sound. 
And   presently  the  jovial  gentleman 
desisted  from  his  knocking  and  de- 
parted. 

33.  Here  was  a  broad  hint  to  hurry 
what   remained   to   be   done,   to   get 
forth    from   this    accusing   neighbor- 
hood, to  plunge  into  a  bath  of  Lon- 
don   multitudes,    and    to    reach,    on 
the  other  side  of  day,  that  haven  of 
safety  and  apparent  innocence  —  his 
bed.    One  visitor  had  come:  at  any 
moment    another   might    follow    and 
be    more    obstinate.    To    have    done 
the   deed,   and   yet  not  to    reap   the 
profit,    would    be    too    abhorrent    a 
failure.    The   money,   that   was  now 


Note  force  of  "  blind.'1 


Pseudo    crisis. 
Contributory    incident. 


Note  "  apparent.'1 


Key. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


405, 


Markheim's  concern ;  and  as  a  means 
to  that,  the  keys. 

34.  He  glanced  over  his  shoulder 
at  the  open  door,  where  the  shadow 
was  still  lingering  and  shivering; 
and  with  no  conscious  repugnance 
of  the  mind,  yet  with  a  tremor  of  the 
belly,  he  drew  near  the  body  of  his 
victim.  The  human  character  had 
quite  departed.  Like  a  suit  half- 
stuffed  with  bran,  the  limbs  lay  scat- 
tered, the  trunk  doubled,  on  the 
floor ;  and  yet  the  thing  repelled  him. 
Although  so  dingy  and  inconsider- 
able to  the  eye,  he  feared  it  might 
have  more  significance  to  the  touch. 
He  took  the  body  by  the  shoulders, 
and  turned  it  on  its  back.  It  was 
strangely  light  and  supple,  and  the 
limbs,  as  if  they  had  been  broken, 
fell  into  the  oddest  postures.  The 
face  was  robbed  of  all  expression ; 
but  it  was  as  pale  as  wax,  and  shock- 
ingly smeared  with  blood  about  one 
temple.  That  was,  for  Markheim, 
the  one  displeasing  circumstance.  It 
carried  him  back,  upon  the  instant,  to 
a  certain  fair  day  in  a  fisher's  vil- 
lage :  a  gray  day,  a  piping  wind,  a 
crowd  upon  the  street,  the  blare  of 
brasses,  the  booming  of  drums,  the 
nasal  voice  of  a  ballad  singer;  and 
a  boy  going  to  and  fro,  buried  over 
head  in  the  crowd  and  divided  be- 
tween interest  and  fear,  until,  com- 
ing out  upon  the  chief  place  of  con- 
course, he  beheld  a  booth  and  a 
great  screen  with  pictures,  dismally 
designed,  garishly  colored :  Brown- 


Note  subsidence  «f  acu** 
fears  and  rise  of  his  tru* 
mood. 


Carefully  consider  the  «>*es- 
tion  of  Markheim's  sanity, 
judging  only  from  It* 
story  as  thus  far  told- 


406 


STUDYING  THE   SHORT-STORY 


rigg  with  her  apprentice;  the  Man- 
nings with  their  murdered  guest; 
Weare  in  the  death-grip  of  Thurtell; 
and  a  score  besides  of  famous  crimes. 
The  thing  was  as  clear  as  an  illu- 
sion; he  was  once  again  that  little 
boy;  he  was  looking  once  again,  and 
with  the  same  sense  of  physical  re- 
volt, at  these  vile  pictures ;  he  was 
still  stunned  by  the  thumping  of  the 
drums.  A  bar  of  that  day's  music 
returned  upon  his  memory;  and  at 
that,  for  the  first  time,  a  qualm  came 
over  him,  a  breath  of  nausea,  a  sud- 
den weakness  of  the  joints,  which 
he  must  instantly  resist  and  conquer. 
35.  He  judged  it  more  prudent  to 
confront  than  to  flee  from  these 
considerations;  looking  the  more 
hardily  in  the  dead  face,  bending  his 
mind  to  realize  the  nature  and  great- 
ness of  his  crime.  So  little  a  while 
ago  that  face  had  moved  with  every 
change  of  sentiment,  that  pale  mouth 
had  spoken,  that  body  had  been  all 
on  fire  with  governable  energies ;  and 
now,  and  by  his  act,  that  piece  of 
life  had  been  arrested,  as  the  horol- 
ogist,  with  interjected  finger,  ar- 
rests the  beating  of  the  clock.  So 
he  reasoned  in  vain;  he  could  rise 
to  no  more  remorseful  conscious- 
ness; the  same  heart  which  had 
shuddered  before  the  painted  effigies 
of  crime,  looked  on  its  reality  un- 
moved. At  best,  he  felt  a  gleam  of 
pity  for  one  who  had  been  endowed 
in  vain  with  all  those  faculties  that 
can  make  the  world  a  garden  of  en- 


Reaction. 


Key.     What   caused    this   be- 
numbed conscience? 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


407 


chantment,  one  who  had  never  lived 
and  who  was  now  dead.  But  of 
penitence,  no,  not  a  tremor. 

36.  With     that,     shaking     himself 
clear     of     these     considerations,     he 
found  the  keys  and  advanced  toward 
the    open    door    of    the    shop.     Out- 
side, it  had  begun  to  rain  smartly ; 
and  the  sound  of  the  shower  upon 
the  roof  had  banished  silence.    Like 
some  dripping  cavern,  the  chambers 
of  the  house  were  haunted  by  an  in- 
cessant echoing,  which  filled  the  ear 
and  mingled  with  the  ticking  of  the 
clocks.    And,  as  Markheim  approach- 
ed the  door,  he  seemed  to  hear,  in 
answer   to    his   own   cautious    tread, 
the  steps  of  another  foot  withdraw- 
ing up  the  stair.    The   shadow   still 
palpitated   loosely   on   the   threshold. 
He  threw  a  ton's  weight  of  resolve 
upon  his  muscles,  and  drew  back  the 
door. 

37.  The  faint,  foggy  daylight  glim- 
mered dimly  on  the  bare  floor  and 
stairs;   on  the  bright  suit  of  armor 
posted,    halbert    in    hand,    upon    the 
landing;    and    on    the    dark    wood- 
carvings,    and    framed    pictures    that 
hung   against    the    yellow   panels    of 
the  wainscot.    So  loud  was  the  beat- 
ing of  the  rain  through  all  the  house 
that,  in  Markheim's  ears,  it  began  to 
be  distinguished  into  many  different 
sounds.    Footsteps     and     sighs,     the 
tread  of  regiments  marching  in  the 
distance,  the  chink  of  money  in  the 
counting,  and  the  creaking  of  doors 
held     stealthily     ajar,     appeared     to 


PLOT  INCIDENT. 


Forecast  of  moral  crisis. 


Note     harmony     of     setting 
with    tone    of    approaching 


Compare  Stevenson's  com- 
bination of  fact  and  fan- 
tasy with  Hawthorne's  in 
"The  White  Old  Maid." 


408 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


mingle  with  the  patter  of  the  drops 
upon  the  cupola  and  the  gushing  of 
the  water  in  the  pipes.  The  sense 
that  he  was  not  alone  grew  upon 
him  to  the  verge  of  madness.  On 
every  side  he  was  haunted  and  be- 
girt by  presences.  He  heard  them  Rise  toward  crisis, 
moving  in  the  upper  chambers ;  from 
the  shop,  he  heard  the  dead  man 
getting  to  his  legs;  and  as  he  began 
with  a  great  effort  to  mount  the 
stairs,  feet  fled  quietly  before  him 
and  followed  stealthily  behind.  If 
he  were  but  deaf,  he  thought,  how 
tranquilly  he  would  possess  his  soul.  Body  and  spirit 
And  then  again,  and  hearkening  with 
every  fresh  attention,  he  blessed 
himself  for  that  unresisting  sense 
which  held  the  outposts  and  stood 
a  trusty  sentinel  upon  his  life.  His 
head  turned  continually  on  his  neck; 
his  eyes,  which  seemed  starting  from 
their  orbits,  scouted  on  every  side, 
and  on  every  side  were  half-reward- 
ed as  with  the  tail  of  something 
nameless,  vanishing.  The  four-and-  A  notable  passage, 
twenty  steps  to  the  first  floor  were 
four-and-twenty  agonies. 

38.  On  that  first  story,  the  doors 
stood  ajar,  three  of  them  like  three 
ambushes,  shaking  his  nerves  like 
the  throats  of  cannon.  He  could 
never  again,  he  felt,  be  sufficiently 
immured  and  fortified  from  men's 
observing  eyes;  he  longed  to  be 
home,  girt  in  by  walls,  buried  among 
bedclothes,  and  invisible  to  all  but 

God.     And  at  that  thought  he  won-       Note  the  exception, 
dered    a   little,    recollecting   tales    of 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


409 


other  murderers  and  the  fear  they 
were  said  to  entertain  of  heavenly 
avengers.  It  was  not  so,  at  least, 
with  him.  He  feared  the  laws  of 
nature,  lest,  in  their  callous  and  im- 
mutable procedure,  they  should  pre- 
serve some  damning  evidence  of  his 
crime.  He  feared  tenfold  more,  with 
a  slavish,  superstitious  terror,  some 
scission  in  the  continuity  of  man's 
experience,  some  willful  illegality  of 
nature.  He  played  a  game  of  skill, 
depending  on  the  rules,  calculating 
consequence  from  cause;  and  what 
if  nature,  as  the  defeated  tyrant 
overthrew  the  chess-board,  should 
break  the  mold  of  their  succession? 
The  like  had  befallen  Napoleon  (so 
writers  said)  when  the  winter  chang- 
ed the  time  of  its  appearance.  The 
like  might  befall  Markheim :  the 
solid  walls  might  become  transparent 
and  reveal  his  doings  like  those  of 
bees  in  a  glass  hive ;  the  stout  planks 
might  yield  under  his  foot  like  quick- 
sands and  detain  him  in  their  clutch ; 
ay,  and  there  were  soberer  accidents 
that  might  destroy  him;  if,  for  in- 
stance, the  house  should  fall  and 
imprison  him  beside  the  body  of  his 
victim;  or  the  house  next  door 
should  fly  on  fire,  and  the  firemen 
invade  him  from  all  sides.  These 
things  he  feared;  and,  in  a  sense, 
these  things  might  be  called  the 
hands  of  God  reached  forth  against 
sin.  But  about  God  himself  he  was 
at  ease;  his  act  was  doubtless  ex- 
ceptional, but  so  were  his  excuses, 


Note  how  suspense  in  the 
reader  is  maintained  by 
disclosing  Markheim's  sus- 
pense. 


Key. 


4io 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


which  God  knew;  it  was  there,  and 
not  among  men,  that  he  felt  sure  of 
justice. 

39.  When  he  had  got  safe  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  shut  the  door 
behind  him,  he  was  aware  of  a  re- 
spite from  alarms.  The  room  was 
quite  dismantled,  uncarpeted  besides, 
and  strewn  with  packing  cases  and 
incongruous  furniture;  several  great 
pier-glasses,  in  which  he  beheld 
himself  at  various  angles,  like  an 
actor  on  the  stage;  many  pictures, 
framed  and  unframed,  standing  with 
their  faces  to  the  wall;  a  fine  Sheraton 
sideboard,  a  cabinet  of  marquetry, 
and  a  great  old  bed,  with  tapestry 
hangings.  The  windows  opened  to 
the  floor;  but  by  great  good  fortune 
the  lower  part  of  the  shutters  had 
been  closed,  and  this  concealed  him 
from  the  neighbors.  Here,  then, 
Markheim  drew  in  a  packing  case  be- 
fore the  cabinet,  and  began  to  search 
among  the  keys.  It  was  a  long  busi- 
ness, for  there  were  many ;  and  it 
was  irksome,  besides;  for,  after  all, 
there  might  be  nothing  in  the  cabinet, 
and  time  was  on  the  wing.  But  the 
closeness  of  the  occupation  sobered 
him.  With  the  tail  of  his  eye  he 
saw  the  door  —  even  glanced  at  it 
from  time  to  time  directly,  like  a 
besieged  commander  pleased  to  verify 
the  good  estate  of  his  defenses.  But 
in  truth  he  was  at  peace.  The  rain 
falling  in  the  street  sounded  natural 
and  pleasant.  Presently,  on  the 
other  side,  the  notes  of  a  piano  were 


Is   this  normal? 


Note    action    of   auto-sugges- 
tion. 


Remarkable     relief 
pense  period. 


in     sus- 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


411 


wakened  to  the  music  of  a  hymn, 
and  voices  of  many  children  took  up 
the  air  and  words.  How  stately, 
how  comfortable  was  the  melody! 
How  fresh  the  youthful  voices ! 
Markhcim  gave  ear  to  it  smilingly, 
as  he  sorted  out  the  keys;  and  his 
mind  was  thronged  with  answerable 
ideas  and  images;  church-going 
children  and  the  pealing  of  the  high 
organ ;  children  afield,  bathers  by 
the  brookside,  ramblers  on  the 
brambly  common,  kite-flyers  in  the 
windy  and  cloud-navigated  sky;  and 
then,  at 'another  cadence  of  the  hymn, 
back  again  to  church,  and  the  som- 
nolence of  summer  Sundays,  and  the 
high  genteel  voice  of  the  parson 
(which  he  smiled  a  little  to  recall) 
and  the  painted  Jacobean  tombs,  and 
the  dim  lettering  of  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments in  the  chancel. 

40.  And    as   he    sat   thus,    at   once 
busy  and  absent,  he  was  startled  to 
his  feet.    A  flash  of  ice,  a  flash  of 
fire,  a  bursting  gush  of  blood,  went 
over  him,  and  then  he  stood  trans- 
fixed and  thrilling.    A  step  mounted 
the    stair    slowly    and    steadily,    and 
presently  a  hand  was  laid  upon  the 
knob,  and  the  lock  clicked,  and  the 
door    opened. 

41.  Fear  held  Markheim  in  a  vice. 
What  to  expect  he  knew  not,  wheth- 
er   the    dead    man    walking,    or    the 
official    ministers    of   human    justice, 
or     some     chance     witness     blindly 
stumbling  in  to  consign  him  to  the 
gallows.    But  when  a  face  was  thrust 


Powerful  contrast. 


Approach   of   moral    crisis. 


Markheim  perceives  only  a 
physical  danger.  Note 
how  long  he  remains  dead 
to  any  moral  judgment  of 
himself. 


412 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


into  the  aperture,  glanced  round  the 
room,  looked  at  him,  nodded  and 
smiled  as  if  in  friendly  recognition, 
and  then  withdrew  again,  and  the 
door  closed  behind  it,  his  fear  broke 
loose  from  his  control  in  a  hoarse 
cry.  At  the  sound  of  this  the  visitant 
returned. 

42.  "Did  you  call  me?"  he  asked, 
pleasantly,  and  with  that  he  entered 
the  room  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him. 

43.  Markheim  stood  and  gazed  at 
him  with  all  his  eyes.     Perhaps  there 
was  a  film  upon  his  sight,  but  the 
outlines  of  the  newcomer  seemed  to 
change  and  waver  like  those  of  the 
idols  in  the  wavering  candle-light  of 
the   shop;   and   at  times  he  thought 
he    knew    him;     and    at    times    he 
thought  he  bore  a  likeness  to  him- 
self, and  always,  like  a  lump  of  liv- 
ing terror,  there  lay  in  his  bosom  the 
conviction   that   this   thing   was   not 
of  the  earth  and  not  of  God. 

44.  And    yet    the    creature    had    a 
strange  air  of  the  common-place,  as 
he  stood  looking  on  Markheim  with 
a  smile ;  and  when  he  added :  "  You 
are    looking    for    the    money,    I    be- 
lieve?" it  was  in  the  tones  of  every- 
day politeness. 

45.  Markheim  made  no  answer. 

46.  "  I   should   warn  you."  resum- 
ed the  other,  "that  the  maid  has  left 
her  sweetheart  earlier  than  usual  and 
will  soon  be  here.     If  Mr.  Markheim 
be  found  in  this  house,  I   need  not 
describe  to  him  the  consequences." 


Here  is  a  real  though  un- 
recognized moral  crisis. 
Fear  eventually  leads  to 
his  moral  triumph. 


Note    the    symbolism    of 
closed    door. 


KEY. 


the 


This  states  the  problem. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


413 


47.  "You    know    me?"    cried    the 
murderer. 

48.  The  visitor  smiled.     "  You  have 
long   been    a    favorite    of   mine,"   he 
said ;  **  and  I  have  long  observed  and 
often  sought  to  help  you."' 

49.  "What  are  you?"  cried  Mark- 
heim:    "the   devil?" 

50.  "What    I    may    be,"    returned 
the  other,  "cannot  affect  the  service 
I  propose  to  render  you." 

51.  "It  can,"  cried  Markheim;  "it 


does !     Be 
never ;    not 


helped     by     you  ? 


by    you ! 


You 
God, 


No, 

do    not 
you    do 


know    me    yet,    thank 
not  know  me !  " 

52.  "  I     know     you,"     replied    the 
visitant,  with  a  sort  of  kind  severity 
or  rather  firmness.    "  I  know  you  to 
the  soul." 

53.  "  Know  me !  "  cried  Markheim. 
"Who  can  do  so?     My  life  is  but  a 
travesty    and    slander    on    myself.    I 
have  lived  to  belie  my  nature.    All 
men  do;  all  men  are  better  than  this 
disguise  that  grows  about  and  stifles 
them.    You   see  each   dragged  away 
by  life,  like  one  whom  bravos  have 
seized    and    muffled    in    a    cloak.    If 
they  had  their  own  control  —  if  you 
could  see  their  faces,  they  would  be 
altogether  different,  they  would  shine 
out    for    heroes    and    saints!    I    am 
worse    than    most;    myself    is    more 
overlaid;  my  excuse  is  known  to  me 
and    God.     But,   had    I    the   time,    I 
could  disclose  myself." 

54.  "  To  me  ?  "  inquired  the  visitant. 


This  is  an  important  passage. 


Forecast 
struggle 
self. 


of        Markheim's 
with     his     better 


Does  Markheim  really  know 
himself? 


414 


STUDYING    THE    SHORT-STORY 


55.  "  To  you  before  all,"  returned 
the     murderer.     "  I     supposed     you 
were    intelligent.     I    thought  —  since 
you  exist  —  you  would  prove  a  read- 
er of  the  heart.     And  yet  you  would 
propose   to    judge    me   by   my   acts! 
Think  of  it ;   my  acts !     I   was  born 
and  I  have  lived  in  a  land  of  giants; 
giants     have     dragged     me     by     the 
wrists  since  I  was  born  out  of  my 
mother  —  the  giants  of  circumstance. 
And    you    would   judge    me   by    my 
acts!     But  can  you  not  look  within? 
Can  you  not  understand  that  evil  is 
hateful    to    me?     Can    you    not    see 
within  me  the  clear  writing  of  con- 
science,  never   blurred   by   any  will- 
ful sophistry,  although  too  often  dis- 
regarded?   Can  you  not  read  me  for 
a    thing   that    surely   must   be    com- 
mon    as     humanity  —  the     unwilling 
sinner?" 

56.  "All  this  is  very  feelingly  ex- 
pressed," was  the  reply.    "  But  it  re- 
gards me  not.    These  points  of  con- 
sistency are  beyond  my  province,  and 
I  care  not  in  the  least  by  what  com- 
pulsion you  may  have  been  dragged 
away,  so  as  you  are  but  carried  in 
the  right  direction.    But  time  flies; 
the    servant    delays,    looking    in   the 
faces  of  the  crowd  and  at  the  pictures 
on  the  hoardings,  but  still  she  keeps 
moving  nearer;  and  remember,  it  is 
as  if  the  gallows  itself  was  striding 
toward   you    through   the    Christmas 
streets!     Shall    I   help   you;    I,    who 
know  all  ?     Shall  I  tell  you  where  to 
find  the  money  ?  " 


Note   the   author's   name   for 
Markheim. 


Seek   a   cause   for   such   rea- 
soning. 


Note  the  distinction  between 
the  final  importance  of 
cause  and  effect. 


Contrast. 

MINOR  MORAL  CRISIS. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


415 


57.  "For      what      price?"      asked 
Markheim. 

58.  "  I  offer  you  the  service  for  a 
Christmas  gift,"   returned  the  other. 

59.  Markheim    could    not     refrain 
from    smiling  with   a   kind   of   bitter 
triumph.     "  No,"    said    he,    "  I    will 
take    nothing    at    your    hands;    if    I 
were  dying  of  thirst,  and  it  was  your 
hand  that  put  the  pitcher  to  my  lips, 
I  should  find  the  courage  to  refuse. 
It  may  be  credulous,  but   I  will  do 
nothing    to   commit   myself   to    evil." 

60.  "I    have    no    objection    to    a 
death-bed   repentance,"  observed   the 
visitant. 

61.  "  Because   you    disbelieve   their 
efficacy  ! '"  Markheim  cried. 

62.  "  I    do    not    say    so,"    returned 
the    other;    "but    I    look    on    these 
things    from    a    different    side,    and 
when    the   life   is    done   my    interest 
falls.    The   man   has   lived   to   serve 
me,    to    spread    black    looks    under 
color  of  religion,  or  to  sow  tares  in 
the    wheat-field,    as    you    do,    in    a 
course  of  weak  compliance  with  de- 
sire.    Now  that  he  draws  so  near  to 
his  deliverance,  he  can  add  but  one 
act    of    service  —  to    repent,    to    die 
smiling,  and  thus  to  build  up  in  con- 
fidence and  hope  the  more  timorous 
of  my  surviving  followers.     I  am  not 
so  hard  a  master.     Try  me.    Accept 
my  help.     Please  yourself  in  life  as 
you  have  done  hitherto;  please  your- 
self more  amply,  spread  your  elbows 
at   the   board;    and   when    the   night 
begins  to  fall  and  the  curtains  to  be 


A    test    of    Markheim's    con- 
sistency. 


Key. 


Is   this   irony? 


4i6 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


drawn,  I  tell  you,  for  your  greater 
comfort,  that  you  will  find  it  even 
easy  to  compound  your  quarrel  with 
your  conscience,  and  to  make  a 
truckling  peace  with  God.  I  came 
but  now  from  such  a  death  bed,  and 
the  room  was  full  of  sincere  mourn- 
ers, listening  to  the  man's  last  words : 
and  when  1  looked  into  that  face, 
which  had  been  set  as  a  flint  against 
mercy,  I  found  it  smiling  with  hope." 

63.  "  And  do  you,  then,  suppose  me 
such  a  creature?"  asked  Markheim. 
"  Do  you  think  I  have  no  more  gen- 
erous   aspirations    than    to    sin,    and 
sin,  and  sin,  and,  at  last,  sneak  into 
heaven?     My     heart     rises     at     the 
thought.     Is  this,  then,  your  experi- 
ence  of   mankind?   or   is   it  because 
/ou    find    me    with    red    hands    that 
you  presume  such  baseness?  and  is 
this     crime     of    murder    indeed    so 
impious  as  to  dry  up  the  very  springs 
of   good  ?  " 

64.  "  Murder   is   to  me   no   special 
category,"    replied    the    other.     "  All 
sins  are  murder,  even  as  all  life  is 
war.     I  behold  your  race,  like  starv- 
ing   mariners    on    a    raft,    plucking 
crusts   out   of  the  hands   of    famine 
and    feeding    on    each    other's    lives. 
I  follow  sins  beyond  the  moment  of 
their   acting;    I   find   in   all   that   the 
last  consequence  is  death;  and  to  my 
eyes,   the   pretty   maid   who    thwarts 
her  mother  with  such  taking  graces 
on  a  question  of  a  ball,  drips  no  less 
visibly  with  human   gore  than   such 
a   murderer   as   yourself.    Do    I    say 


Markheim     has     judged 
example. 


the 


Is  this  true  reasoning? 


Note    the    detached    attitude. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES 


417 


that  I  follow  sins?  I  follow  virtues 
also ;  they  differ  not  by  the  thickness 
of  a  nail,  they  are  both  scythes  for 
the  reaping  angel  of  Death.  Evil, 
for  which  I  live,  consists  not  in 
action  but  in  character.  The  bad 
man  is  dear  to  me;  not  the  bad  act, 
whose  fruits,  if  we  could  follow  them 
far  enough  down  the  hurtling  cat- 
aract of  the  ages,  might  yet  be  found 
more  blessed  than  those  of  the  rarest 
virtues.  And  it  is  not  because  you 
have  killed  a  dealer,  but  because  you 
are  Markheim,  that  I  offered  to  for- 
ward your  escape." 

65.  "  I  will  lay  my  heart  open  to 
you/'  answered  Markheim.  "  This 
crime  on  which  you  find  me  is  my 
last.  On  my  way  to  it  I  have  learn- 
ed many  lessons;  itself  is  a  lesson, 
a  momentous  lesson.  Hitherto  I 
have  been  driven  with  revolt  to  what 
I  would  not;  1  was  a  bond-slave  to 
poverty,  driven  and  scourged.  There 
are  robust  virtues  that  can  stand  in 
these  temptations ;  mine  was  not  so : 
I  had  a  thirst  of  pleasure.  But  to- 
day, and  out  of  this  deed,  I  pluck 
both  warning  and  riches  —  both  the 
power  and  a  fresh  resolve  to  be  my- 
self. I  become  in  all  things  a  free 
actor  in  the  world;  I  begin  to  see 
myself  all  changed,  these  hands  the 
agents  of  good,  this  heart  at  peace. 
Something  comes  over  me  out  of  the 
past;  something  of  what  I  have 
dreamed  on  Sabbath  evenings  to  the 
sound  of  the  church  organ,  of  what 
I  forecast  when  I  shed  tears  over 


Note  paradox. 


An  unusual  expression 


Note  use  of  "  of.' 


Could    that    have    been? 


4i8 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


noble  books,  or  talked,  an  innocent 
child,  with  my  mother.  There  lies 
my  life;  I  have  wandered  a  few 
years,  but  now  I  see  once  more  my 
city  of  destination." 

66.  "  You   are   to   use  this   money 
on  the   Stock   Exchange,   I   think?" 
remarked  the  visitor ;  "  and  there,  if 
I  mistake  not,  you  have  already  lost 
some  thousands?  " 

67.  "Ah,"    said    Markheim,    "but 
this  time  I  have  a  sure  thing." 

68.  "  This    time,    again,    you    will 
lose,"  replied  the  visitor,  quietly. 

69.  "Ah,    but     I    keep    back    the 
half !  "  cried  Markheim. 

70.  "  That  also  you  will  lose,"  said 
the  other. 

71.  The  sweat  started  upon  Mark- 
heim's     brow.     "  Well,     then,     what 
matter?"  he  exclaimed.    "Say  it  be 
lost,    say    I    am    plunged    again    in 
poverty,   shall   one  part  of  me,  and 
that    the    worse,    continue    until    the 
end  to  override  the  better  ?     Evil  and 
good   run   strong  in  me,   haling  me 
both   ways.     I    do  not  love   the   one 
thing,    I    love    all.     I    can    conceive 
great    deeds,    renunciations,    martyr- 
doms ;  and  though  I  be  fallen  to  such 
a  crime  as  murder,  pity  is  no  strang- 
er to  my  thoughts.     I  pity  the  poor; 
who  knows   their   trials  better  than 
myself?     I    pity    and    help    them;    I 
prize   love,   I    love   honest   laughter ; 
there  is  no  good  thing  nor  true  thing 
on  earth  but  I  love  it  from  my  heart. 
And  are  my  vices  only  to  direct  my 
life,    and   my  virtues   to  lie   without 


Self-deception    uncovered. 


Moral  crisis  begins  to  appear 
to  Markheim. 


Self-deception 
gling. 


still      strug- 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES  419 

effect,  like  some  passive  lumber  of 
the  mind?  Not  so;  good,  also,  is 
a  spring  of  acts." 

72.  But  the  visitant  raised  his  fin- 
ger.   "  For  six-and-thirty  years  that 
you   have  been  in  this   world,"   said 
he,  "  through  many  changes  of  for- 
tune and  varieties  of  humor,  I  have 
watched    you    steadily    fall.    Fifteen 

years  ago  you  would  have  started  at      Here    the    story    is    plainly 
a  theft.     Three  years  back  you  would          didactic, 
have  blenched  at  the  name  of  mur- 
der.    Is  there  any  crime,  is  there  any 
cruelty  or  meanness,  from  which  you 
still  recoil?  —  five  years  from  now  I 
shall  detect  you  in  the  fact !     Down- 
ward, downward,  lies  your  way;  nor 
can  anything  but  death  avail  to  stop 
you." 

73.  "  It    is    true,"    Markheim    said, 
huskily,  "  I  have  in  some  degree  com- 
plied   with    evil.     But   it   is    so   with 
all:  the  very  saints,  in  the  mere  ex- 
ercise   of    living,    grow    less    dainty, 
and  take  on   the   tone   of  their   sur- 
roundings." 

74.  "  I   will   propound   to   you   one      Key> 
simple     question,"     said    the    other; 

"  and  as  you  answer,  I  shall  read  to 
you  your  moral  horoscope.  You 
have  grown  in  many  things  more  lax ; 
possibly  you  do  right  to  be  so;  and 
at  any  account,  it  is  the  same  with 
all  men.  But  granting  that,  are 
you  in  any  one  particular,  however 
trifling,  more  difficult  to  please  with 
your  own  conduct,  or  do  you  go  in 
all  things  with  a  looser  rein?" 

75.  "  In  any  one  ?  "  repeated  Mark- 


420 


STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 


heim,  with  an  anguish  of  considera- 
tion. "  No,"  he  added,  with  despair, 
"  in  none !  I  have  gone  down  in  all." 

76.  "  Then,"  said  the  visitor,  "  con- 
tent yourself  with  what  you  are,  for 
you  will  never  change  ;  and  the  words 
of  your  part  on  this  stage  are  irrevo- 
cably written  down." 

77.  Markheim    stood    for    a    long 
while   silent,  and  indeed  it  was  the 
visitor   who   first   broke   the   silence. 
"That  being  so,"  he   said,   "shall   I 
show  you  the  money?" 

78.  "And    grace?"     cried     Mark- 
heim. 

79.  "  Have  you  not  tried  it  ?  "  re- 
turned   the    other.    "Two    or    three 
years  ago,  did  I  not  see  you  on  the 
platform    of    revival    meetings,    and 
was   not   your   voice   the   loudest    in 
the  hymn  ?  " 

80.  "It   is   true,"    said   Markheim; 
"and  I  see  clearly  what  remains  for 
me  by  way  of  duty.     I  thank  you  for 
these  lessons  from  my  soul :  my  eyes 
are  opened,  and  I  behold  myself  at 
last  for  what  I  am." 

81.  At  this  moment,  the  sharp  note 
of   the    door-bell    rang   through    the 
house;   and  the  visitant,   as   though 
this  were  some  concerted  signal  for 
which   he  had  been  waiting,  chang- 
ed at  once  in  his  demeanor. 

82.  "  The  maid !  "  he  cried.    "  She 
has  returned,   as   I   forewarned  you, 
and    there    is    now    before    you    one 
more  difficult  passage.    Her  master, 
you  must   say,   is   ill;   you   must  let 
her  in,   with   an   assured   but   rather 


MINOR  MORAL  CLIMAX. 

Markheim    at   last    sees   him' 
self. 


FULL  MORAL  CRISIS. 
PHYSICAL  RESULTANT  CRISIS. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES  421 

serious  countenance  —  no  smiles,  no 

overacting,  and  I   promise  you   sue-      Final  test- 

cess!     Once  the  girl  within,  and  the 

door  closed,  the  same  dexterity  that 

has  already  rid  you  of  the  dealer  will 

relieve   you   of   this   last   danger   in 

your  path.    Thenceforward  you  have 

the  whole  evening  —  the  whole  night, 

if  needful  —  to  ransack  the  treasures 

of  the  house  and  to  make  good  your 

safety.     This   is   help  that  comes   to 

you  with  the  mask  of  danger.    Up !  " 

he    cried :    "  up,    friend ;    your    life 

hangs   trembling    in    the   scales;    up, 

and  act !  " 

83.  Markheim  steadily  regarded  his 
counsellor.    "  If  I   be  condemned  to 
evil    acts,"    he    said,    "there    is    still 
one   door   of   freedom   open  —  I   can 
cease  from  action.    If  my  life  be  an 
ill  thing,  I  can  lay  it  down.    Though 
I  be,  as  you  say  truly,  at  the  beck 
of  every  small  temptation,  I  can  yet, 
by  one  decisive  gesture,  place  myself 
beyond   the   reach   of   all.     My   love 
of  good  is  damned  to  barrenness ;  it 
may,  and  let  it,  be!     But  I  have  still 
my  hatred  of  evil ;  and  from  that,  to 
your     galling     disappointment,     you 
shall  see  that  I  can  draw  both  energy 
and  courage." 

84.  The  features  of  the  visitor  be-      Who  was  the  visitant? 
gan    to    undergo    a    wonderful    and 

lovely  change;  they  brightened  and 
softened  with  a  tender  triumph ;  and, 
even  as  they  brightened,  faded  and 
dislimned:  But  Markheim  did  not 
pause  to  watch  or  understand  the 
transformation.  He  opened  the  door 


422  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

and  went  down-stairs  very  slowly, 
thinking  to  himself.  His  past  went 
soberly  before  him;  he  beheld  it  as 
it  was,  ugly  and  strenuous  like  a 
dream,  random  as  chance-medley  — 
a  scene  of  defeat.  Life,  as  he  thus 
reviewed  it,  tempted  him  no  longer; 
but  on  the  further  side  he  perceived 
a  quiet  haven  for  his  bark.  He 
paused  in  the  passage,  and  looked  into 
the  shop,  where  the  candle  still  burn- 
ed by  the  dead  body.  It  was  strange- 
ly silent.  Thoughts  of  the  dealer 
swarmed  into  his  mind,  as  he  stood 
gazing.  And  then  the  bell  once  more 
broke  out  into  impatient  clamor. 

85.  He   confronted  the  maid  upon 
the  threshold  with  something  like  a 
smile. 

86.  "  You    had    better    go    for    the       MORAL     CLIMAX.      DENOUE- 
police,"  said  he :  "I  have  killed  your          MENT. 

master." 


MORRISON  AND  HIS  WRITINGS 

Arthur  Morrison  was  born  in  Kent,  England,  in  1863. 
After  some  experience  as  a  clerk  in  the  civil  service,  as 
the  secretary  of  a  charity  trust  in  the  East  End  of  Lon- 
don, and  as  a  journalist  on  the  editorial  staff  of  an  even- 
ing paper,  he  settled  down  definitely  to  his  career  as 
novelist  and  writer  on  oriental  art.  He  is  best  known  as 
a  journalist,  however,  and  his  familiarity  with  the  East 
End  has  largely  contributed  to  his  success  in  depicting 
the  sordid  life  of  London's  "  mean  streets/'  as  the  "  re- 
morseless realism  "  of  his  pictures  testify.  Mr.  Morri- 


PSYCHOLOGICAL    STORIES  423 

son's  literary  work  was  in  the  nature  of  prose  and 
verse  panegyrizing  bicycles  and  bicycling.  His  principal 
works,  apart  from  several  plays  and  magazine  contribu- 
tions, are  Tales  of  Mean  Streets;  the  several  Martin 
Hewitt  (detective)  books;  A  Child  of  the  Jago ;  To 
London  Town;  The  Hole  in  the  Wall;  The  Red  Triangle; 
The  Green  Eye  of  Goona  (published  in  America  as  The 
Green  Diamond)  ;  and  The  Painters  of  Japan. 

Mr.  Morrison's  best  fiction  is  not  large  in  bulk,  for  his 
detective  stories  are  surpassed  both  in  merit  and  in  popu- 
lar appeal  by  more  than  one  writer  on  similar  themes ; 
but  in  his  Tales  of  Mean  Streets,  which  contains  the  ap- 
pended study,  "  On  the  Stairs,"  he  has  attained  a  com- 
pressed power  equalled  only  by  the  French  realists  and 
scarcely  surpassed  even  by  them.  He  has  brought  the 
art  of  suggestion  to  a  high  pass,  his  swiftness  and  firm- 
ness of  delineation  are  equally  effective,  and  though  his 
subjects  are  sordid  and  often  depressing  they  live  before 
us  as  real  folk. 

The  introduction  to  Tales  of  Mean  Streets  appeared  in  Mac- 
millan's  Magazine  in  October,  1891,  where  it  was  called  simply, 
"A  Street."  This  sketch  attracted  the  attention  of  Mr,  W.  E. 
Henley,  who  gave  the  young  writer  the  benefit  of  his  own 
knowledge  and  criticism ;  and  it  is  to  Henley  and  to  Walter 
Besant  that  Mr.  Morrison  makes  special  acknowledgment  for 
help  in  the  technicalities  and  mechanism  of  his  tales.  Most  of 
these  Talcs  of  Mean  Streets  appeared  in  the  National  Observer 
(while  Henley  was  the  editor),  and  a  few  in  the  Pall  Mall 
Budget. —  Book  Buyer  (London),  vol  12. 

If  the  modern  novel  about  the  slums,  such  as  novels  of  Mr. 
Arthur  Morrison,  or  the  exceedingly  able  novels  of  Mr.  Somerset 


424  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

Maugham,  are  intended  to  be  sensational,  I  can  only  say  that  that 
is  a  noble  and  reasonable  object,  and  that  they  attain  it.  ...  It 
may  be  ...  it  is  necessary  to  have  in  our  fiction  the  image  of  the 
horrible  and  hairy  East-ender,  merely  to  keep  alive  in  us  a  fear- 
ful and  childlike  wonder  at  external  peculiarities.  .  .  .  To  sum- 
marize, our  slum  fiction  is  quite  defensible  as  aesthetic  fiction;  it 
is  not  defensible  as  spiritual  fact. —  GILBERT  K.  CHESTERTON, 
Heretics. 

Ever  seeking  the  clean-cut,  picturesque  phrase  and  the  vivid 
word,  he  produced  a  very  striking  picture  of  the  East  End.  But, 
nevertheless,  it  was  not  quite  satisfactory  and  convincing.  Hu- 
man nature  does  not  alter  so  much  with  conditions  as  he  seems 
to  think.  A  little  less  or  a  little  more  morality  does  not  affect 
its  elements.  .  .  .  Mr.  Morrison's  strongest  gift  in  writing  is  a 
cynicism  that  is  almost  brutal.  With  it  he  elaborates  the  features 
of  all  his  characters  till  the  impression  is  produced  that  one 
savage,  hideous,  ugly  coster  and  one  gaudy-feathered,  bedizened 
"  Jonah "  have  acted  as  models  for  all  his  studies  of  Jagodom. 
Moreover,  his  success  has  been  achieved  in  pictures  of  the  brutal. 
— Academy  (London),  vol.  52. 

The  "  mean  streets  "  are  streets  in  London.  .  .  .  [They]  have 
found  in  Arthur  Morrison  an  interpreter  who  lifts  them  out  of 
their  meanness  upon  the  plane  of  a  just  claim  to  human  sym- 
pathy. He  lets  us  see  the  relief.  Bill  Napper,  the  drunken 
kerb-whacker,  come  into  property  and  defending  it  against  the 
rascally  labor  agitator,  Sctiddy  Lond,  mixing  religious  fervor  and 
till-tapping  with  entire  sincerity,  Simmons  and  Ford,  victims  of 
their  joint  wife's  "jore"  and  mania  for  trouser-making,  even 
the  Anarchists  of  the  Red  Cow  group,  appeal  to  us  with  a  sense 
almost  of  kinship  because  we  feel  that  the  figures  are  real. 
They  are  capital  character-studies  besides.  Dickens  never  made 
a  finer  than  the  thief  Scuddy  Lond,  or  than  Billy  Chope.  .  .  . 
The  art  of  these  stories  seems  flawless.  Mr.  Morrison's  gift 
amounts  to  genius. —  JACOB  Rus,  Romances  of  "  The  Other  Half," 
The  Book  Buyer,  vol.  12. 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES  425 

FURTHER  REFERENCES  FOR  READING  ON 
MORRISON 

Methods  of  Arthur  Morrison,  Academy,  vol.  50,  531 ; 
His  Work,  Academy,  vol.  52,  493;  Blackwood's  Maga- 
zine, vol.  163,  734;  How  to  Write  a  Short  Story,  Book- 
man, vol.  5,  45  ;  Morrison  as  a  Realist,  H.  D.  Traill,  Fort- 
nightly, vol.  67,  65 ;  Reply,  A.  Morrison,  New  Review, 
vol.  16,  326;  Child  of  the  Jago:  True  to  Facts,  A.  O.  Jay, 
Fortnightly,  vol.  67,  324. 

FOR  ANALYSIS 
ON  THE  STAIRS 

BY  ARTHUR    MORRISON 


The  house  had  been  "genteel." 
When  trade  was  prospering  in  the 
East  End,  and  the  ship-fitter  or 
block-maker  thought  it  no  shame  to 
live  in  the  parish  where  his  work- 
shop lay,  such  a  master  had  lived 
here.  Now,  it  was  a  tall,  solid, 
well-bricked,  ugly  house,  grimy  and 
paintless  in  the  joinery,  cracked  and 
patched  in  the  windows :  where  the 
front  door  stood  open  all  day  long; 
and  the  womankind  sat  on  the  steps, 
talking  of  sickness  and  deaths  and 
the  cost  of  things;  and  treacherous 
holes  lurked  in  the  carpet  of  road- 
soil  on  the  stairs  and  in  the  passage. 
For  when  eight  families  live  in  a 
house,  nobody  buys  a  door-mat,  and 


426  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

the  street  was  one  of  those  streets 
that  are  always  muddy.  It  smelt, 
too,  of  many  things,  none  of  them 
pleasant  (one  was  fried  fish)  ;  but 
for  all  that  it  was  not  a  slum. 

2.  Three  flights  up,  a  gaunt  wom- 
an with  bare  forearms  stayed  on  her 
way  to  listen  at  a  door  which,  open- 
ing, let  out  a  warm,  fetid  waft  from 
a  close  sick-room.    A  bent  and  tot- 
tering old  woman  stood  on  the  thres- 
hold,  holding  the  door  behind  her. 

3.  "An'  is  'e  no  better  now,  Mrs. 
Curtis?"    the    gaunt   woman    asked, 
with  a  nod  at  the  opening. 

4.  The  old  woman  shook  her  head, 
and  pulled  the  door  closer.    Her  jaw 
waggled     loosely     in     her     withered 
chaps :     "  Nor     won't    be ;     till     'e's 
gone."    Then  after  a  certain  pause, 
"  'E's  goin',"  she  said. 

5.  "Don't   doctor   give   no   'ope?" 

6.  "Lor'  bless  ye,  I  don't  want  to 
ast  no  doctors,"  Mrs.  Curtis  replied, 
with  something  not  unlike  a  chuckle. 
"I've   seed  too   many   on   'em.     The 
boy's    a-goin',    fast;    I   can    see   that. 
An'  then  " —  she  gave  the  handle  an- 
other    tug,     and     whispered— "he's 
been    called."    She    nodded    amain; 
"  Three  seprit  knocks  at  the  bed-head 
las'    night;    an'    I    know    what    that 
means !  " 

7.  The    gaunt    woman    raised    her 
brows,     and     nodded.    "Ah,     well," 
she  said,  "  we  all  on  us  comes  to  it 
some  day,  sooner  or  later.    An'  it's 
often  a  'appy  release." 

8.  The  two  looked  into  space  be- 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES  427 


yond  each  other,  the  elder  with  a 
nod  and  a  croak.  Presently  the  oth- 
er pursued,  "  'E's  been  a  very  good 
son,  ain't  'e?" 

9.  "  Ay,    ay,    well    enough    son    to 
me,"  responded  the  old  woman,  a  lit- 
tle peevishly ;  "  an'  I'll  'ave  'im  put 
away  decent,  though  there's  on'y  the 
Union  for  me  after.    I  can  do  that, 
thank  Gawd !  "  she  added,  meditative- 
ly,  as   chin   on   fist   she    stared   into 
the  thickening  dark  over  the  stairs. 

10.  "  When    I    lost    my    pore    'us- 
band,"  said  the  gaunt  woman  with  a 
certain    brightening,    "  I    give    'im    a 
'ansome  funeral.    'E  was  a  Odd  fel- 
ler, an*   I  got  twelve  pound.    I   'ad 
a  oak  caufin  an'  a  open  'earse.    There 
was  a  kerridge  for  the  fam'ly  an'  one 
for  'is  mates  —  two  'orses  each,  an* 
feathers,  an'  mutes;  an'  it  went  the 
furthest   way   round   to   the   cimitry. 
'  Wotever    'appens,    Mrs.    Manders,' 
says   the   undertaker,   'you'll   feel  as 
you've    treated    'im    proper;    nobody 
can't   reproach  you   over  that.'    An' 
they   couldn't.    'E   was   a   good   'us- 
band  to  me,  an'  I  buried  'im  respect- 
able." 

11.  The     gaunt     woman     exulted. 
The    old,    old    story    of    Manders's 
funeral  fell  upon  the  other  one's  ears 
with    a   freshened    interest,   and   she 
mumbled      her      gums      ruminantly. 
"  Bob'll  'ave  a  'ansome  buryin',  too," 
she  said.     "  I   can  make  it  up,  with 
the    insurance    money,    an'    this,    an' 
that.     On'y    I    dunno    about    mutes. 
It's  a  expense." 


4^8  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

12.  In  the  East  End,  when  a  wom- 
an has  not  enough  money  to  buy  a 
thing  much  desired,  she  does  not  say 
so  in  plain  words ;  she  says  the  thing 
is  an  "  expense,"  or  a  "  great  ex- 
pense." It  means  the  same  thing, 
but  it  sounds  better.  Mrs.  Curtis 
had  reckoned  her  resources,  and 
found  that  mutes  would  be  an  "ex- 
pense." At  a  cheap  funeral  mutes 
cost  half-a-sovereign  and  their  liquor. 
Mrs.  Manders  said  as  much. 

13.  "  Yus,  yus,  'arf-a-sovereign,"  the 
old    woman    assented.     Within,    the 
sick  feebly  beat  the  floor  with  a  stick. 
"  I'm    a-comin',"    she    cried    shrilly  ; 
"yus,  'arf-a-sovereign,  but  it's  a  lot, 
an'  I   don't  see  'ow  I'm  to  do  it  — 
not    at    present."     She    reached    for 
the   door-handle    again,   but    stopped 
and    added,   by   after-thought,   "  Un- 
less  I   don't  'ave  no  plooms." 

14.  "It  'ud  be  a  pity  not  to  'ave 
plooms.     I  'ad — " 

15.  There    were    footsteps    on    the 
stairs :   then   a  stumble   and   a   testy 
word.     Mrs.   Curtis   peered   over  in- 
to   the    gathering    dark.     "  Is    it   the 
doctor,  sir?"  she  asked.     It  was  the 
doctor's    assistant;    and    Mrs.    Man- 
ders tramped  up  to  the  next  landing 
as   the   door   of  the   sick-room   took 
him  in. 

16.  For    five    minutes    the     stairs 
were    darker    than    ever.    Then    the 
assistant,   a   very   young  man,    came 
out  again,  followed  by  the  old  wom- 
an   with    a    candle.     Mrs.    Manders 
listened    in   the    upper    dark.     "He's 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES  429 


sinking  fast,"  said  the  assistant.  "  He 
must  have  a  stimulant.  Dr.  Mansell 
ordered  port  wine.  Where  is  it?" 
Mrs.  Curtis  mumbled  dolorously.  "  I 
tell  you  he  must  have  it,"  he 
averred  with  unprofessional  emphasis 
(his  qualification  was  only  a  month 
old).  "The  man  can't  take  solid 
food,  and  his  strength  must  be  kept 
up  somehow.  Another  day  may 
make  all  the  difference.  Is  it  be- 
cause you  can't  afford  it  ?  "  "  It's  a 
expense  —  sich  a  expense,  doctor," 
the  old  woman  pleaded.  "An'  wot 
with  'arf-pints  o'  milk  an' — "  She 
grew  inarticulate,  and  mumbled  dis- 
mally. 

17.  "But    he    must    have    it,    Mrs. 
Curtis,  if  it's  your  last  shilling:  it's 
the  only  way.     If  you  mean  you  ab- 
solutely  haven't   the    money — "    and 
he    paused    a   little    awkwardly.     He 
was    not    a    wealthy    young    man  — 
wealthy  young  men  do  not  devil  for  - 
East  End  doctors  —  but  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  certain  haul  of  sixpences 
at  nap  the  night  before;  and,  being 
inexperienced,  he  did  not  foresee  the 
career    of    persecution    whereon    he 
was  entering  at  his  own  expense  and 
of    his    own    motion.    He    produced 
five    shillings :     "  If    you     absolutely 
haven't  the  money,  why  —  take  this 
and   get   a  bottle  —  good:   not   at   a 
public-house.     But     mind,     at     once. 
He  should  have  had  it  before." 

18.  It   would  have    interested   him, 
as  a  matter  of  coincidence,  to  know 
that    his    principal    had    been    guilty 


43°  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

of  the  selfsame  indiscretion  —  even 
the  amount  was  identical  —  on  that 
landing  the  day  before.  But,  as  Mrs. 
Curtis  said  nothing  of  this,  he 
floundered  down  the  stair  and  out 
into  the  wetter  mud,  pondering 
whether  or  not  the  beloved  son  of 
a  Congregational  minister  might  take 
full  credit  for  a  deed  of  charity  on 
the  proceeds  of  sixpenny  nap.  But 
Mrs.  Curtis  puffed  her  wrinkles,  and 
shook  her  head  sagaciously  as  she 
carried  in  her  candle.  From  the 
room  came  a  clink  as  of  money  fall- 
ing into  a  teapot.  And  Mrs.  Man- 
ders  went  about  her  business. 

19.  The  door  was  shut,  and  the 
stair  a  pit  of  blackness.  Twice  a 
lodger  passed  down,  and  up  and 
down,  and  still  it  did  not  open.  Men 
and  women  walked  on  the  lower 
flights,  and  out  at  the  door,  and  in 
again.  From  the  street  a  shout  or 
a  snatch  of  laughter  floated  up  the 
pit.  On  the  pavement  footsteps  rang 
crisper  and  fewer,  and  from  the  bot- 
tom passage  there  were  sounds  of 
stagger  and  sprawl.  A  demented  old 
clock  buzzed  divers  hours  at  random, 
and  was  rebuked  every  twenty  min- 
utes by  the  regular  tread  of  a  police- 
man on  his  beat.  Finally,  somebody 
shut  the  street-door  with  a  great 
bang,  and  the  street  was  muffled.  A 
key  turned  inside  the  door  on  the 
landing,  but  that  was  all.  A  feeble 
light  shone  for  hours  along  the 
crack  below,  and  then  went  out.  The 
crazy  old  clock  went  buzzing  on,  but 


PSYCHOLOGICAL   STORIES  43 1 


nothing    left    that    room    all    night. 
Nothing   that   opened   the  door.  .  .  . 

20.  When  next  the  key  turned,  it 
was  to  Mrs.  Manders's  knock,  in  the 
full    morning;    and    soon    the    two 
women  came  out  on  the  landing  to- 
gether, Mrs.  Curtis  with  a  shapeless 
clump  of  bonnet.    "Ah,  'e's  a  lovely 
corpse,"  said  Mrs.   Manders.    "  Like 
wax.     So  was  my  'usband." 

21.  "  I    must   be   stirrin',"   croaked 
the   old  woman,  "an'   go  about  the 
insurance  an'  the  measurin'  an*  that. 
There's  lots  to  do." 

22.  "Ah,    there    is.    'Oo    are    you 
goin'  to  'ave,— Wilkins  ?    I  'ad  Wil- 
kins.     Better    than    Kedge,   /   think: 
Kedge's    mutes    dresses     rusty,    an' 
their  trousis  is  frayed.    If  you  was 
thinkin'  of  'avin'  mutes  — " 

23.  "  Yus,    yus,"^-  with    a    palsied 
nodding, — "  I'm      a-goin'      to      'ave 
mutes :  I  can  do  it  respectable,  thank 
Gawd ! " 

24.  "  And  the  plooms  ?  " 

25.  "Ay,  yus,  and  the  plodms  too. 
They  ain't  sich  a  great  expense,  after 
all." 


SUGGESTIVE  QUESTIONS  FOR  STUDY   , 

1.  What  are  the  points  of  similarity  between  the  Character- 
Study  and  the  Psychological  Study? 

2.  Define  (a)   Psychology,  (b)   Realism. 

3.  Does  Markheim's  change  of  heart  seem  to  you  to  be  genu- 
ine?   Give  your  reasons. 

4.  Analyze  his  motives  fully. 

5.  Is  the  supernatural  element  convincing? 


432  STUDYING   THE   SHORT-STORY 

6.  Could  conscience  produce  the  same  effect  as  the  Visitant? 

7.  What  impression  did  Stevenson  seek  to  convey  by  "  Mark- 
heim"? 

8.  Fully   analyze   the   thoughts,    feelings,   and   motives    of   the 
mother. 

9.  Can    you    detect    Morrison's    motive    in    writing    "  On    the 
Stairs"? 

10.  Fully    analyze    one    other    psychological  study,    from    any 
source. 


TEN  REPRESENTATIVE  PSYCHOLOGICAL 
STUDIES 

"  A  Coward,"  Guy  de   Maupassant,  translated   in   The 

Odd  Number. 
"  Another  Gambler,"  Paul  Bourget,  translated  in  Stories 

by  Foreign  Authors. 

"  La  Bretonne,"  Andre  Theuriet,  translated   in  Short- 
Story  Masterpieces. 
"  The  Song  of  Death,"  Hermann  Sudermann,  translated 

in  The  Indian  Lily. 

"  The  Recovery,"  Edith  Wharton,  in  Crucial  Instances. 
"  Billy-Boy,"  John  Luther  Long,  in  volume  of  same  title. 
"  The   Executioner,"   Honore   de   Balzac,   translated   in 

Masterpieces  of  Fiction. 
"  The  Revolt  of  '  Mother/  "  Mary  E.  Wilkins  Freeman, 

Harper's  Magazine,  vol.  81,  553. 
"  The  Lady  or  the  Tiger,"  Frank  R.  Stockton,  in  volume 

of  same  title. 
"  The  Man  Without  a  Country,"  Edward  Everett  Hale, 

in  Short  Story  Classics,  American. 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

An  extended  list  of  books  and  magazine  articles  on  the  short- 
story  will  be  found  on  pages  375-378,  426-431  of  the  present 
author's  Writing  the  Short-Story,  New  York,  Hinds,  Hayden  and 
Eldredge  (1909),  xiv-f-44i  pp.  Most  of  the  bibliographical  ref- 
erences here  appended  also  appear  in  the  revised  edition  of  Writ- 
ing the  Short-Story  (1918).  Magazine  articles  have  not  been 
included,  as  they  may  be  found  listed  in  the  cumulative  periodical 
indexes.  For  several  years,  The  Writer's  Monthly,  Springfield, 
Mass.,  a  periodical  for  literary  workers,  has  printed  monthly  a 
list  of  magazine  articles  of  interest  to  writers. 

Notes  on  the  Influence  of  E.  T.  A.  Hoffman  on  Edgar  Allan 
Poe,  G.  Gruener,  Modern  Language  Association  of  America 
(1904). 

How  to  Write,  Charles  Sears  Baldwin.  Macmillan  (1906). 
Chapters  on  "How  to  Tell  a  Story,"  and  "How  to  Describe." 
Based  upon  Bible  narratives. 

The  Art  of  the  Short-Story,  George  W.  Gerwig.  Werner 
(1909).  A  brief  general  study.  Out  of  print. 

The  Short  Story  in  English,  Henry  Seidel  Canby.  Holt 
(1909).  An  exhaustive  examination  into  the  origin  and  develop- 
ment of  the  form. 

A  History  of  Story  Telling,  Arthur  Ransome.     Stokes  (1909). 

Studies  in  Several  Literatures,  Harry  Thurston  Peck.  Dodd, 
Mead  (1909).  Chapters  on  "Poe,"  and  "The  Detective  Story." 

The  Art  of  Writing  (also  issued  under  the  title,  The  Art  of 
Short  Story  Writing},  George  Randolph  Chester.  The  Pub- 
lishers Syndicate  (1910).  A  collection  of  brief  notes  on  all 
phases  of  the  title-subject. 

The  Fiction  Factory,  John  Milton  Edwards  (pseudonym). 
Editor  Co.  (1911).  "The  author  tells  how  he  conceived,  planned, 
wrote  and  sold  $100,000  worth  of  manuscripts." 

The  Craftsmanship  of  Writing,  Frederic  Taber  Cooper.  Dodd, 
Mead  (1912).  These  papers  appeared  serially  in  The  Bookman, 
New  York. 

.      The  Plot  of  the  Short  Story,  Henry  Albert  Phillips.    Stanhope- 
Dodge  (1912).     The  technique  and  mechanics  ^of  plot 

The  American  Short  Story,  C.  Alphonso  Smith.  Ginn  (1912). 
An  American  reprint  of  one  of  the  author's  lectures  delivered  as 
Roosevelt  Professor  at  the  University  of  Berlin. 

433 


434 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE 


The  Art  and  Business  of  Story  Writing,  W.  B.  Pitkin.  Mac- 
millan  (1912). 

The  American  Short  Story,  Elias  Lieberman.  Editor  Co. 
(1912). 

The  Art  of  Story  Writing,  J.  Berg  Esenwein  and  Mary 
Davoren  Chambers.  Home  Correspondence  School  (1913).  A 
study  of  the  shorter  fictional  forms — the  anecdote,  fable,  parable, 
tale,  sketch,  and  short-story — with  outlines  for  study  and 
instruction. 

The  Technique  of  the  Mystery  Story,  Carolyn  Wells.  Home 
Correspondence  School  (1913). 

Art  in  Short  Story  Narration,  Henry  Albert  Phillips.  Stanhope- 
Dodge  (1913). 

The  Art  of  Writing,  Preface  to  "The  Nigger  of  the  Narcissus," 
Joseph  Conrad.  ^Doubleday  (1914). 

Short  Stories  in  the  Making,  Robert  Wilson  Neal.  Oxford 
University  Press  (1914). 

The  Author's  Craft,  Arnold  Bennett.     Doran  (1914) 

The  Art  of  the  Short  Story,  Carol  Grabo.    Scribner  (1914). 

The  Modern  Short-Story,  Lilian  Notestein  and  Waldo  H. 
Dunn.  Barnes  (1914). 

On  the  Art  of  Writing,  A.  Quiller-Couch.    Putnam  (1916). 

The  Contemporary  Short  Story,  Harry  T.  Baker.  Heath 
(1916). 

The  Short-Story,  Barry  Pain.  Doran  (1916).  Reprint  of  an 
earlier  English  edition. 

The  Thirty  Six  Dramatic  Situations,  Georges  Polti.  Editor 
Co.  (1916). 

A  Handbook  of  Story  Writing,  Blanche  Colton  Williams. 
Dodd,  Mead  (1917). 

Children's  Stories  and  How  to  Tell  Them.  J.  Berg  Esenwein 
and  Marietta  Stockard.  Home  Correspondence  School  (1917). 

Helps  for  Student-Writers,  Willard  E.  Hawkins.  The  Stu- 
dent-Writer Press  (1917). 

The  Technique  of  Fiction  Writing,  Robert  Saunders  Dowst. 
Editor  Co.  (1917). 

Besides  the  edited  collections  of  miscellaneous  short-stories 
included  in  the  first  edition  of  Writing  the  Short-Story,  which 
need  not  be  reproduced  here,  are  the  following.  In  most  instances 
the  collections  are  prefaced  by  introductory  notes  by  the  editors 
named. 

The  Best  American  Tales,  W.  P.  Trent  and  John  Bell  Henne- 
man.  Crowell  (1907). 

International  Library  of  Fiction.  (3  vols.),  William  Patten. 
Collier  (1910). 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE 


435 


The  Grcai  English  Short-Story  Writers  (2  vols.),  William  J. 
and  Coningsby  W.  Dawson.  Harper  (1910). 

The  Lock  and  Key  Library  (10  vols.),  Julian  Hawthorne.  This 
is  an  expansion  of  'the  six-volume  edition  of  Mystery  and  De- 
tective Stories  (6  vols.).  Review  of  Reviews  Co.  (1912). 

Short-Story  Masterpieces,  French  (2  vols.),  J.  Berg  Esenwein. 
Home  Correspondence  School  (1912). 

Short-Story  Masterpieces,  Russian  (2  vols.).  J.  Berg  Esenwein. 
Home  Correspondence  School  (1913). 

A    Collection  of  Short  Stories,  L.   A.    Pittenger.      Macmillan 

(1913). 

A  Study  of  the  Short  Story,  Henry  S.  Canby.    Holt  (1913). 

A  Book  of  Short  Stories,  Stuart  P.  Sherman.    Holt  (1914). 

Types  of  the  Short-Story,  Benjamin  A.  Heydrick.  Scott,  Fores- 
man  (1914). 

The  Short-Story,  E.  A.  Cross.    McClurg  (1914). 

Modern  Short  Stories,  Margaret  Ashmun.     Macmillan  (1914). 

Short  Stories,  Leonard  Moulton.    Houghton,  Mifflin  (1915). 

Short  Stories  for  High  Schools,  Rosa  M.  R.  Mikels.     Scribner 


Elements  of  the  Short  Story,  E.  E.  Hale,  Jr.,  and  F.  T.  Dawson. 
Holt  (1915)- 

Short  Stories  from  "Life,"  T.  L.  Masson.    Doubleday  (1916). 

Short  Stories  and  Selections,  for  Use  in  Secondary  Schools, 
Emilie  K.  Baker.  Macmillan  (1916). 

Representative  Short  Stories,  Nina  Hart  and  Edna  M.  Perry. 
Macmillan  (1917). 

The  Best  Short  Stories  of  1915,  and  The  Yearbook  of  the 
American  Short  Story,  E.  J.  O'Brien.  Small,  Maynard  (1916). 

Similar  collections  by  the  same  editor  have  been  issued  for 
1916  and  1917,  and  others  for  later  years  are  to  follow. 

Atlantic  Narratives,  Charles  Swain  Thomas.  Atlantic  Monthly 
Press  (1018). 

Index  to  Short  Stories.  Ina  TenEyck  Firkins.    Wilson. 


INDEX 


In  this  index,  names  of  authors  are  printed  in  small  capitals  and 
titles  of  books  in  italics;  titles  of  short-stories  are  enclosed  in 
quotations,  and  general  persons  and  subjects  are  in  Roman  type. 
It  has  not  seemed  necessary  to  index  titles  and  authors  which  are 
merely  included  in  biographical  and  bibliographical  notes. 


Action,  2,  3. 
ADDISON,  JOSEPH,  xix. 
Adventure  (see  Action),  xvi,  3. 
Anecdote,  xvi,  xvii,  xx. 
Arabian  Nights,  xviii. 

B 

BALDWIN,  CHARLES  S.,  xxiv. 
BALZAC,    HONORE   DE,   xx,    134, 

253. 
BARRIE,    JAMES    M.f    133,   215- 

249. 
BARRETT,    CHARLES    RAYMOND. 

xxiii. 

BEERS,  H.  A.,  300. 
BERANGER,  320. 
Bibliography     of     Short-Story, 

xxi,  433. 

BIERCE,  AMBROSE,  72. 
BOCCACCIO,    xviii ;    Decameron, 

xvii;  Rmaldo,  xvii. 
BURKE,  EDMUND,  132. 
BURTON,  RICHARD,  32. 
BUTLER,  ELLIS  PARKER,  133. 


CANBY,  H,  S.,  xxiv,  32,  33,  75, 

76,  149,  258,  301,  302. 
Characters,  4,  354,  355,  356. 
Character  Studies,  353-389. 


CHAUCER,  GFOFFREY,  xviii,  Can- 
terbury Tales,  xvii;  Pardon- 
ers Tale,  xvii. 

CHESTERTON,  GILBERT  K.,  424. 

CODY,  SHERWIN,  xxiii. 

Comedy,  192. 

Contc  devot,  xvi,  xvii. 

Contributory  incident,  21,   199. 

COPPEE,  FRANCOIS,  134,  368- 
388. 

"  Courting  of  T'Nowhead's 
Bell,  The,"  219-249. 

CRAWFORD,  F.  MARION.  72. 

CRAWFORD,  V.  M.,  137,  138. 

Crisis,  xxvi,  355. 

CROSS,  J.  W.,  252. 

CURTIS,  GEORGE  WILLIAM,  70. 


DAUDET,  ALPHONSE,   133-147. 
DEFOE,  DANIEL,  xix. 
Denouement,  xxvi. 
Detective  Story,  xix. 
Developing  incident    (see  con- 
tributory incident). 
DYE,  CHARITY,  xxiii. 


E 

EDGEWORTH,       MARIA, 

Tales,  xix. 
Egyptian  tales,  xv,  xvi. 


Moral 


437 


INDEX 


ELIOT,  GEORGE,  252. 
Emotion,  Stories  of,  131-190- 
Episode,  xvii,  xix. 
Essay-Stories,  xix. 
Esther,  Book  of,  xvi. 
Exercises,    xxxi,   67,    129,    189, 
249,  290,  351,  388,  431. 


Fabliau,  £viii. 

FAGUET,  EMILE,  6. 

"  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher, 

The,"  320-351. 
Fiction,  Art  of,  xiii. 
FLAUBERT,  GUSTAVE,  32,  33. 


Ghosts,  70. 

Golden  Ass,  The,  Apuleius,  xvi. 
Graham's  Magazine,  xxii,  295. 
GRENIER,  EDOUARD,  7. 
GRISWOLD,  HATTIE  T.,  218. 
Guardian,  xix. 

H 

HAMILTON,  CLAYTON,  354. 

HAMMERTON,  J.  A.,  218. 

Handbook  of  Literary  Criti- 
cism, 31. 

HARTE,  BRET,  133,  253,  254. 

HAWTHORNE,   JULIAN,   70,   258. 

HAWTHORNE,  NATHANIEL,  xix, 
xxii,  xxiii,  33,  71,  75,  297- 

319. 

HENRY,  O.,  193-215. 
HIGGINSON,     THOMAS     WENT- 

WORTH,  xxiii. 
HOFFMAN,  E.  A.,  xix,  75. 
Homeric  stones,  xv. 
Humorous  Stories,  191-250. 
HUTTON,  R.  H.,  301. 

I 

Idler,  xix. 

Impressionistic  Stories,  293- 
352. 


INDEPENDENT,  xxiii. 
IRVING,  WASHINGTON,  xix,  71 ; 
Rip  Van  Winkle,  xviii. 

J 

JACOBS,  W.  W.,  108-129. 
JAMES,  HENRY,  137,  149,  279. 
JESSUP,  ALEXANDER,  xxiv. 
JOHNSON,  SAMUEL,  xix. 

K 

KING,  GRACE,  6,  7. 
KIPLING,     RUDYARD,     31,     133, 
147-189,  258. 


LANG,  ANDREW,  32,  75. 

"Last    Class,    The,"    134,    136, 

139-147. 
LE   GALLIENNE,    RICHARD,    150, 

258,  300. 

LEMMON,  LEONARD,  258. 
LEWIN,  WALTER,  257,  258. 
LEWIS,  E.  H.,  xxiii. 
Li  p  pined  tr  s  Magazine,  xxiii. 
Local    color,   8,   254    (see    set- 

ting). 
"  Lodging   for   the   Night,   A," 

32,  34-67- 
LONGFELLOW,  H.  W.,  299. 

M 


,^     HAMILTON      WRIGHT, 
279. 

MCINTYRE,  MARION,  137. 
MACLAREN,  IAN,  216. 
"  Mateo    Falcone,"    8-29,     134, 

254- 
MATTHEWS,  BRANDER,  xxiii,  75, 

280,  370,  371. 

"Markheim,"  32,  33,  393-422. 
MAUPASSANT,     GUY     DE,     vii, 

xxix,   133,   196,  254,  277-290, 


MERIMEE,     PROSPER,    xix,    xx. 
4,  8-29. 


INDEX 


439 


Milesian  Tales,  xvi. 
MILLER,  MERION  M.,  3/0. 
"  Moonlight,"  253,  278,  281-290. 
"Monkey's    Paw,    The/     110- 

129,  134. 

MORRISON,  ARTHUR,  422-43*- 
Mystery   and    Fantasy    Stones, 

69-130. 

N 

NATHAN,  G.  J.,  196. 
NODIER,  CHARLES,  xix. 
Novel,  xiii. 
Novelette,  xx,  xxvii. 
Novella,  xvii,  xviii. 


O'BRIEN,  FITZ-JAMES,  72. 
"On  the  Stairs,"  393,  425-431. 
'•  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat,  The," 
253,  258-277. 


PATER,  WALTER,  392. 

PECK,    HARRY   THURSTON,    197. 

PELLISSIER,  GEORGES,  7. 

PERRY,  BLISS,  2,  392. 

PHELPS,  WILLIAM  LYON,  31. 

"  Piece  of  String,  The,"  356- 
368 

Plot,  xxv. 

Plot  incident,  n. 

POE,  EDGAR  ALLAN,  xix,  xx, 
xxi,  xxn,  xxv,  30,  72-107, 
134,  294,  295,  296,  320-351. 

Psychological  Studies,  391-432- 

"Purloined    Letter,    The,"    72, 

75-107- 
PUSHKIN,  xix. 


Q 

Questions,  see  Exercises. 


Rambler,  xix. 

"  Ransom  of  Red  Chief,  The," 

198-215- 
Representative     Stories,     Lists 

of,  68,  130,  190,  250,  290,  351, 

389,  432. 
Rns,  JACOB,  424. 
Romanticism,  31. 
Roz,  FIRMIN,  280. 
Ruth,  Book  of,  133- 


Sadness  in  Stories,  viii. 

SAINTSBURY,  GEORGE,  7. 

SANDERSON,  ROBERT,  370. 

Saturday  Review,  xxiii. s 

Scenario,  xvi,  xxvii. 

SCOTT,  SIR  WALTER,  xix. 

Setting,  Stories  of,  251-290. 

SHERAN,  WILLIAM  H.,  31. 

Short  History  of  French  Liter- 
ature, 7. 

Short-Story,  origin  of,  xx ; 
denned,  xxv,  xxvi ;  Study  of, 
xiii,  xiv. 

Sketch,  xxviii,  355. 

SMITH,  C.  ALFONSO,  xxiii. 

SMITH,  LEWIS  W.,  xxiii. 

Spectator,  xix. 

SPIELHAGEN,    FRIEDRICH,    xxiii. 

STEELE,  RICHARD,  xix. 

STEVENSON,  ROBERT  Louis,  29- 
67,  393-422. 

Story-tellers,  xv,  xvi. 

"  Substitute,  The,"  371-388. 

SYMONS,  ARTHUR,  138,  279. 


Tale,  xv,  xvii,  xx,  xxvii,  355. 

Taller,  xix. 

TIECK,  J.  L.,  xix,  75. 

To  Teachers,  vii. 

TRENT,  W.  P.,  137. 

TWAIN,  MARK,  193. 


440 


INDEX 


VOLTAIRE,  xix,  72. 

W 

WARD,  ARTEMAS,  193. 
Warner  Library,  6,  7,  218,  280, 

370. 

WEISS,  JOHN,  192. 
"  White  Old  Maid,  The,"  302- 

319. 


WHITE,  WILLIAM   ALLEN,   193. 
"  Without    Benefit   of    Clergy," 

134,   148-189. 
Writing    the    Short-Story,    vii$ 

ix,  xi,  xxvi,  133,  253,  255. 


Zadig,  xix,  720 


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